The Show Must Go On
by broadwaypants
Summary: Hunger Games AU / Jesse has been training for the games for as long as he can remember. Blaine has lived in terror of being chosen his entire life. When they're chosen in the same year, it all comes down to one question: which one of them gets to live?
1. Chapter 1

Jesse's life had been governed by three rules since he was four years old.

Rule 1: Do everything with a purpose.

Rule 2: There are no friends, only allies.

Rule 3: Make no apologies.

He supposed there was a clause added onto one of those rules, or maybe it was a guideline, or maybe it was just a fact of life, but one piece of information eclipsed all three from the moment he realized what exactly he was being trained for:

_You will end up in the arena_.

* * *

><p>It's been like this for as long as Jesse can remember. Ever since he was twelve years old, he's stood there in line with the other boys his age, in neat lines so that everyone is visible. Everyone must be accounted for; they can't have someone slipping away or just not showing up. He watches with bated breath as the names are pulled, wondering if this year he'll be the one chosen. He never is, of course, and even if he had been, someone older and larger than him would have pushed him out of the way to volunteer.<p>

But this year will be different. This year he's eighteen, the last year he'll be eligible, and what a waste of his life it would be if he didn't end up in the arena. It's what he's been waiting for, after all, waiting patiently while silently cursing all the boys bigger and louder than him, who'd been able to shove their way to the front before he could in previous years.

This year, he will end up in the arena.

It's what he wants more than anything. Others think of it as a chore, and other districts think of it as a punishment, but he sees it as his destiny. He is going to be in that arena, and he is going to win.

He's at the back of the line this year. He's not the tallest nor is he the biggest, but that is no measure of strength. His body is all lean muscle, his mind filled with tactics and tricks, his stomach conditioned to digest any variety of strange and potentially dangerous foods. There is no luxury in training for the games; the luxury comes after you win.

He pays no mind to the girl whose name gets called, for he knows that the stick-thin seventeen year old with the long, orange braid is going to end up the one going. Sure enough, when a timid-looking thirteen year old steps forward after the name is called, the girl with the orange braid actually elbows the person next to her in the ribs, shouting, "I volunteer!" He thinks, for a split second, how nice it would have been to have ended up with someone he actually could work with as opposed to someone with whom he had never gotten along, but then again, rule two must be taken into account.

It would be much easier to kill this self-righteous bitch than it would be to kill someone he actually liked.

He looks to his right and to his left as the man at the podium plunges his hand into the bowl with all the boys' names, giving the boy to his left a long, stern look.

_This is my year._

"Jesse St. James," the man calls out, and he could laugh at the sheer irony. And he does laugh; the sound rings out across the crowd, cutting through the crisp air and leaving a warm glow in its wake. All smiles, he begins to walk towards the podium, reaching out to grab another boy by the face and shoving him down toward the ground when he sees he is about to protest. The boy crumples to the ground with a soft whimper, but Jesse doesn't even give him a second glance.

He looks straight into the camera that is trained on him, eyes fixed on it as he walks, never breaking eye contact until he reaches the steps. He takes his place next to orange girl, looking out at the crowd, feeling their eyes on him, feeling their pride in the pair of them.

It's like riding on top of a wave before it brings you crashing back to earth. Jesse lives for these moments of recognition, where people look upon him with wonder and envy, knowing that he is destined for great things. Because he _is_; by God, he is. He can feel it in the intensity of their stares, feel it in the way the orange girl is also looking at him, feel it in the way he's carrying himself now, posture straight and his expression one of a smug sort of neutrality. Anyone looking at him would swear he hadn't just had his name pulled to go into the Games.

And yet, he has. He's going. And he's never been more pleased with himself in his life.

His attention is then directed to the large television screen in the square, where his own face has now ceased appearing, showing instead a completely different town. Jesse watches without moving, without reacting, as tributes are chosen from each of the following districts. District two offers two rather hulking teens, while District three's are smaller, seeming to be more agile. Nobody looks out of the ordinary, and the entire deal isn't even all that interesting until in district ten, a boy's name is called and the complete look of shock and horror on his face is enough to make even Jesse's jaw tighten.

He's bored by the time all twelve districts have two tributes, wanting to skip the goodbyes and go straight to the Capitol. He doesn't need to say goodbye, after all. He'll be gone for a month, maybe two, and then he'll be back, the only thing coming in his wake being a fat sum of money and a key to one of the winners' estates.

"So," the orange-haired girl speaks to him once they're safely tucked away in the train for the Capitol, "it's the two of us, then."

"So it would seem," Jesse responds, not even bothering to look over at her, choosing instead to continue staring out the window. He'd never been the type for idle chatter.

"I'm glad your name was called," she continues. "It wouldn't do to have District One offer up a sorry excuse for a career like the previous year." Jesse sniffs loudly in response, because most of their district had agreed to never speak of the incident again. They'd all thought a winner had been found in Klaus, but nobody had bothered to factor in the boy's stupidity. He had lasted five minutes in the arena, setting a new record for the shortest time spent by a career tribute.

"Besides, I'm in this for the challenge, just like you are," the girl still isn't finished. "It would do nobody any good if you were killed in the bloodbath, or even on the first day, would it?" She laughs, a high-pitched, simpering sound, but he makes no noise. "If I am to kill you, I don't want it to be easy."

Jesse's jaw tightens again, this time for a whole other reason. True, if it came down to it he would put an end to this girl without the blink of an eye, but he wasn't about to go shouting about it. There was something so… inappropriate about making those types of jokes, even if it was common knowledge that a person would have to commit murder in order to make it out alive. He turns from the window abruptly, reaching out swiftly and cupping the girl's jaw, tipping her head upwards sharply.

"No," he says, shaking his head, his eyes locked onto hers, which have widened. "We aren't going to talk about that. Because in order for you to speak that way to me, you indulge in a fantasy worthy of an imbecile, and it just won't do to represent District One in such a fashion." His fingers tighten, squeezing against her jaw, feeling just how little substance there is to her. She really is all skin and bones. How she expects to manage more than a day is beyond him.

None too kindly, he pushes her away, and only then does he release her. She stumbles backwards, one hand instantly on her jaw, rubbing at the red mark already flaring to life. Jesse goes back to staring out the window, not caring if she is angry with him. Anger causes people to be irrational, causes them to lash out. She will fall victim to poor judgment that way, making her an easy target.

It's all part of the game, after all, and he's been playing it since his was four years old. He's perfected it. Everything he does from here on out has a greater purpose, and being one step ahead is always five steps behind.

And he's been planning the orange-haired girl's death since he'd watched her elbow her way to the front. She is too proud and much too haughty, and even worse, she lets it show. Her own ego, her delusions that she cannot fail, will mean her ultimate destruction. Jesse entertains the same fantasies, but in his case it is different. He doesn't want to win; he knows he will win. He's silent about this determination, about his own assuredness, and that is why he will win.

The rest of the trip passes in silence, though Jesse can feel her reproachful gaze on him. They reach the Capitol before the others, of course, and as such are ushered to their respective chambers without fuss. The fuss comes later, when the pair are to be pampered and clothed to impress, to put on a show for the benefit of everyone else. At least, that is how most tributes choose to see it. Jesse? No, the show is as much for him as it is for everyone else.

He supposes he should at least know his fellow tribute's name, so as they finish their dinner in silence and make for their separate rooms, he speaks.

"I didn't hear your name," is all he says. It's not an apology, because that would be going against rule three. It's simply a statement of truth.

"Jewel," she tells him, one hand going to her jaw again, as if afraid he's going to make a grab for her again.

"Jewel," he repeats. Then he walks away without another word and with no parting words to offer. And though he now has a name to attach to that orange hair, it changes nothing. Jewels are hard and lifeless and cause men to become mad with want and greed. They were nothing but a show of wealth, a way for lesser men to make themselves feel like more.

And yet every jewel could be cracked.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello there! So, apparently people are actually, like, legitimately interested in this story, so thank you all for reading the first chapter! I wanted to add an author's note to this one to let you all know that I will be writing this story through till the end of the Games, so you will all know exactly what happens to our boys by the end. It's going to take me a while, because this is extremely dependent on Jesse's character development and that kind of development takes time, but I promise I will finish it._

_Besides, I already wrote the end, so... yeah. Shame to let that go to waste, eh? So anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

><p>He wakes to the sun gently falling across his face, dimmer than usual thanks to the protective screen placed atop his window. Jesse yawns, feeling very much like a cat as he stretches out under the soft blankets, a smile taking the yawn's place soon enough. It takes him a few moments to remember where he is, but then again, he had had quite the day previously. So when he opens his eyes and focuses on the room he's been longing to see his entire life, he can't quite help the hoarse laugh that tumbles from his lips.<p>

And he hasn't even explored yet.

Jesse gets up from his bed, throwing the blankets off his body and not caring where they fell, opening the screen on his window and peering out at the city around him. It's breathtaking, being here in person, seeing the gigantic buildings and the familiar skyline, places he's seen in pictures but never visited. He knows there will be no time for sightseeing, but he can't help the desire to leap from his window and down onto the streets and just run around like a child in a playground for the first time.

His thoughts are short-lived when a knock on the door prefaces the entrance of the man who had been pulling out names in District One.

"Breakfast," he tells Jesse. "And get dressed. You can't be seen wandering around in that." And then he closes the door with no further comment.

Jesse laughs again, stretching his arms up above his body, gazing down at his own body, naked save for his underwear. He deplores getting ordered about, but this man is to be his mentor before going into the games, and Jesse is supposed to keep him happy. A happy mentor means better advice, and while he doesn't need anyone's assistance, it would be nice to be able to pick the man's brain without worrying about overstepping any boundaries.

He opens all of the drawers in the bureau one by one, plunging his hands into them and feeling the expensive fabrics he's been given to clothe himself. There are deep greens and deep blues, somber black and bright white, and even a dark charcoal grey shirt made of a fabric so smooth that Jesse can't help but pull it out and swipe one of the sleeves across his cheek. He's used to finery, living in District One, but nothing like this.

He pulls on the grey shirt, marveling at how it fits snugly around his chest, falling a bit loose around his stomach, the hem hanging just below his waist. It's ridiculously comfortable, and Jesse finds himself searching through the drawers again, trying to find if he's been given another shirt like this one.

There is no other to be found, so Jesse finds a pair of black pants and pulls them on, socks following, and then lacing up the pair of boots he'd come with. It won't do to break in new shoes. New shoes mean blistered feet, and he can't go into the arena with any pre-existing injuries. He'll be given a uniform to wear in the Games themselves, but Jesse has heard from previous tributes that the shoes he'll be given will be purposefully worn.

Well, if he's given shoes.

But that's a matter for another time. Jesse strolls out into the large room with the table laden with food, offering a smile but no formal greeting to the three others already sitting there. Jewel shoots him a dirty look, and he can see a bruise on her jaw, a smear of makeup not adequate to cover it up. Well, as a career she's not supposed to know how to do her own makeup. That's why they each have a team of stylists, after all.

Jewel and her mentor start up a steady stream of inane babble, which Jesse automatically tunes out. He glances at his mentor, noticing the man looks a bit disgruntled, pushing his food around his plate and not eating any of it. Jesse turns away, focusing on his own food, and speaks to nobody the entire time they're all sitting at the table. Why should he? He has nothing to say to any of them.

"Jesse!"

His own name suddenly meets his ears, and he looks round, seeing his mentor beckoning for him to come.

"In here. It's time to get dressed."

"Right," is all he says, knowing that he'll now be expected to wear some ridiculous costume representing District One. He'll probably end up looking like a giant disco ball, and when he goes back into his room to find his team grinning at him manically and with a floor-length robe covered in tiny gems, he knows this isn't going to be good. He wants to refuse, wants to tell them he doesn't want to wear that ridiculous outfit, but he dutifully undresses and lets the team do their work.

They chatter as they work, of course, but Jesse pays them no mind, just as he had done at breakfast. It's painfully dull, being pampered only to end up looking foolish, and he's feeling extremely underwhelmed by this whole ordeal so far. He wants to skip all these pointless ceremonies and television appearances and just go to the training portion already.

But he knows better than to let this eagerness show.

He has to remain aloof, unconcerned, even when he is bored out of his skull. That is the demeanor he will be adopting. Tall, dark, brooding, and handsome always wins over the crowd, after all.

"You're a quiet one," the head of his team comments, slipping the robe over Jesse's shoulders, over the skin-tight black bodysuit he has on underneath it. Jesse's mouth twitches and he nods once to acknowledge the man's words, but he doesn't say a word. The woman chuckles, adding, "Handsome, even still." He nods again, slower this time, making sure to meet her gaze. Her eyes are two different colors and he's certain the hair underneath all that dye is grey, but she giggles like a schoolgirl when he does so.

Mission accomplished.

Jesse still feels absolutely ridiculous and he's certain that he'll be finding glitter on his body long after he's washed this all off, but now is not the time for complaints. When he's deemed finished, he takes one look at himself in the mirror, decides that was one look too many, and strides out the door without another glance.

It's easy, holding his head high even though he feels like he's wearing about twenty pounds of jewelry (which means it's probably about forty), waiting with Jewel to be paraded out to the waiting crowd. Jesse's not too concerned with what the others will be wearing nor if they'll look nicer than he does. No, all he cares about is putting on the show he's been planning for since he was a small boy.

District One is announced first, of course, giving them a natural advantage. The first and the last are always the easiest to remember, and Jesse hopes that the tributes from District Twelve won't make a very good impression. Tipping his chin up slightly, he watches as the crowd becomes visible, as he and Jewel make the traditional circle so they can be examined from all angles.

Jesse's posture is straight, his gaze trained on the camera that is positioned right in front of them. Though he knows the other cameras are being used, he remains fixated on that single camera, because were he to keep turning his head this way and that, he would look ridiculous. No, Jesse stares into the camera, a half-smirk half-smile on his face, not even bothering to wave to the crowd. Jewel is next to him, and he can feel her arms flapping as she invites the audience to look at her. Their tactics are different, and only one of them will be successful.

He doesn't bother to look and find out which one of them had been the real center of attention; that would just be counterproductive. Besides, this whole thing will be replayed all night long, so he will have plenty of opportunities to see what he may need to revise.

When he and Jewel come to a halt, Jesse doesn't stop looking into that camera, not until he's certain that it is no longer recording them. Then he turns his attention to his fellow tributes.

They're all dressed in equally ridiculous outfits, none of them wearing something remotely interesting. Jesse dismisses them one right after the other, watching their chariots come to the end of the designated circle and the other tributes clamber out to stand alongside him and Jewel. It's then that Jesse keeps his attention fixed on them, because they way they move says a lot about them.

The girl from District Three seems to have a permanent sneer on her face, while the boy from District Five looks no older than ten, though he must be twelve. He hops out with boy-like agility that Jesse knows will be his one advantage over the others. District six offers what seems to be a set of twins, and Jesse knows at once that their weakness will be each other. Whether they love each other or hate each other, it will only hinder them in the end. You can't get attached, and going in with a familial attachment is the worst kind of bond to have.

He completely dismisses Districts seven through nine, because their tributes all look timid and frightened, though he knows this very well may be an act. But he knows what true horror is, because he'd seen it on the boy from District Ten's face when his name had been called. That couldn't be faked, and if the way the boy was trembling now was any indication, he wasn't any better off than he had been before.

He'd feel bad, if it wasn't for the fact that this was just another part of life, one that he'd been trained to expect for as long as he can remember, and if he can be this calm and collected, then that boy can at least have the decency to pull himself together.

District Twelve offers a girl who is positively breathtakingly beautiful, but of the last two districts, she is the only person of significance. Jesse supposes it could have been a lot worse, but instead of being grateful he finds himself almost saddened that it won't be that much of a challenge.

He commits all of their painted faces to memory, assigning them all their district numbers and how long he expects them to last, cataloguing it in his mind so that he has them all memorized by the time they're free to go. Well, "free to go," isn't the best way to put it, but Jesse feels free. In fact, he feels freer than he has been in a long time, because now he's rid of his trainers and his teachers and everyone who thinks he will fail, and is going into the games.

Supper passes in silence that night, neither Jewel nor her mentor speaking. Jesse's mentor doesn't even bother to show up. The three of them watch a replay of the ceremony, and Jesse watched Jewel's cheeks flush with angry color when they realize that the camera had never even panned away from Jesse's face for an instant.

Score one for the tall, dark, handsome, and brooding.

And when he wakes the next day, knowing that their training is to finally – _finally!_ – begin, Jesse can hardly contain himself. He eats breakfast with vigor and impatience, though he's careful not to eat too fast, and he's dressed in that same charcoal grey shirt from yesterday that he'd taken off shortly after putting it on. It's probably not designed to be a practice shirt, and he has a whole drawer full of those anyway, but Jesse can't bring himself to care.

He's walking down towards the designated practice area when his mentor calls his name.

"Yes?" he turns, speaking for the first time in over a day. His mentor looks relieved, as if worried he was selectively deaf or had lost his voice.

"I'm supposed to give you some advice," he says, falling into step with Jesse. "But, fuck it, everyone knows about my time in the Games and what advice I have to offer's no good to anyone."

Jesse thinks, trying to remember who this man is.

"You're Henri," he realizes. "Henri St. Pierre, the one who–"

"The one who got put in the middle of a fucking blizzard only to have the other tributes freeze to death first," Henri says quickly. "Lost my thumbs, though." He wiggles what are clearly highly-crafted prosthetic thumbs at Jesse. "Fucking frostbite."

"A victory's a victory," Jesse decides, though he doesn't truly believe it.

"Well, either way, you can bet that your girlfriend will be getting an earful from Miss Cavanaugh over there," he jerks his thumb – which Jesse isn't starting at – over his shoulder at the way they'd come. "She won her games on skill, not luck. So you can bet she'll be getting some advice from… well…" He trails off. It's clear that he sees his victory as an embarrassment, not a source of pride. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do," Jesse says automatically.

"But listen," Henri steps closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone always says you should never show your best in the training, that you should leave your true skills up to the imagination. I say, fuck it. Show them what you're capable of, and they'll be even more scared of you, wondering what you have up your sleeve."

"Clever," Jesse nods. "I like it."

"I think this is the part where I say good luck and don't cut yourself on anything sharp," Henri decides, offering him a smile and squeezing his shoulder. "So… good luck and don't cut yourself on anything sharp."

"Thanks," Jesse smiles at him. He's genuinely surprised at how much he apparently likes having Henri as a mentor, despite the man not having any worthwhile advice for him. He'll have to look up Henri's games, despite knowing how the end, because despite himself Jesse is curious to see how Henri survived before everyone else froze to death. Surely there were fights to be had, alliances made, promises broken.

Resigning himself to ask later, he pushes the door to the training room open, stepping inside and looking around in awe – yes, he'll admit it, awe – at the different stations to be found. He's heard about this room, but he'd never been able to properly envision its magnitude. It's humungous, and the range of weapons to be found lining the walls and resting on tables makes Jesse's fingers twitch.

He's the first to arrive, so he walks down the middle, down the path between the different stations, scoping each of them out. He knows where his strengths lie, and he has no weaknesses, but he still has to be strategic when showing these off. He had planned on not picking up a sword or a knife at all, feigning incompetence in those two areas, but now that Henri had given him something else to think about, Jesse found that he quite liked the idea of scaring the others into thinking he was more capable than he may appear.

Of course, he may still downplay his abilities just a little, to be on the safe side, but there would be no false modesty to be found from him.

The other tributes file in shortly after he's finished looking around the room, and they are left to their own devices. Jesse stands off to the side, watching as the others pick stations of their own, watching as the boy from District Two grabs a sword and promptly drops it. He's a terrible actor and Jesse can see through this farce instantly, and he knows that this giant of a boy's strength is with the sword. The little boy from District Five grabs a knife – which is so large for him it might as well be a sword – and starts slashing it through the air. He's dexterous and competent, and Jesse is still sure his youthful energy will take everyone else by surprise.

Then he looks over at the knot-tying station, and sees the boy from District Ten. He's seated himself on the table and has a pile of rope in his lap, and as Jesse watches him, he realizes that this boy isn't simply tying knots. No, as he watches, the boy weaves the rope in and out, tying off and end there and taking another piece, weaving that in as well, and then places whatever it is he has made onto the table beside him.

Against his own judgment, Jesse is intrigued, so he walks over to the boy, determined to find out what it is he's making.


	3. Chapter 3

He's making animals.

Jesse stares down at the table, recognizing the slightly disproportionate form of a horse, woven from the pieces of rope they've been given to practice with. For a few moments, neither of them speak. Jesse just stares down at the table, and the boy fidgets with another piece of rope, no doubt starting to make another one.

"I hope that's as practical as it is decorative," Jesse says finally, picking up the horse and giving its tail a tug. He can feel the ropes shifting, and knows that the knots used won't hold if he were to pull on it any harder. The boy makes an instinctive move, reaching for it, and Jesse knows he's done it involuntarily.

"Here," he hands it back anyway. He looks up at the boy's face, noticing that he wears an expression of neutrality, as opposed to the looks of terror that had been there in days previous. His hands shake as he takes the animal back, setting it carefully back on the table.

Jesse can see through this neutral façade to see that the boy is still terrified. His fear will be his biggest weakness, what will get him killed. Jesse can see that in almost an instant.

It takes Jesse even less time to figure out who will be the one to kill him. The girl from District Three will be the one who does it; she seems to be the most ruthless of the bunch, possibly even more so than him. And Jesse has no problem with that. She'll get rid of the weaklings, the ones who were too innocent and inexperienced to put up a fight, the kind of murders that would make others squirm and feel guilty. It's really to everyone's advantage that way, at the end of the day.

"You're Jesse St. James," the boy says suddenly, in a voice that is a bit deeper than Jesse had expected. He speaks softly, as if afraid he'll be overheard by the others.

"Yes I am," Jesse nods. It probably counts as common courtesy to ask the boy for his name as well, but he doesn't. Names are a sign of weakness as well. Wanting to know his opponents' names makes things more personal.

"You're from District One," the boy continues, and Jesse nods again. "You've been training for this your entire life, haven't you?"

"Three out of three," Jesse cracks a small smile. "Would you like to play again, or take home your one-hundred percent now?"

The boy laughs. It's a strange sound to be heard amongst all the soft grunting to be heard when the other tributes spar and lift heavy weapons. It almost sounds foreign; laughter doesn't belong here, especially not that kind of laughter. This isn't joy to be found from the Games, but joy coming from something else. From someone else.

Jesse realizes that taking this boy under his wing might prove to be valuable in the end. He starts entertaining the idea of pretending to befriend the boy, to ensure that he lasts in the game until the very end, and then…

No.

That would make things too easy. It would be so, so simple to do, but Jesse doesn't want to be remembered as the tribute who took advantage of someone like that. That's one way to win the Games, but it would be a win that left quite the sour taste in his mouth. He wants to win thanks to his own survival skills, thanks to nobody doing him any favors and not having that sort of advantage. Imagine the shame he would feel if he won simply because he'd strung along an easy kill until the end.

Besides, the girl from District Three is going to kill this boy, not him.

"My name's Blaine," the boy tells him, holding out a hand for Jesse to shake. He takes it, feeling a palm and fingers that are tough and calloused. It makes sense, even if this boy isn't a fighter. District Ten is where the farmers are. He's probably used to working long hours, used to dealing with animals and machinery. Jesse wonders why this boy hasn't realized he can use those skills here, as well. Surely he's used a scythe during the harvest before. All he has to do is pick one up from that weapons table and go at the mannequin, learning the weak spots of the human body.

More to test his own theory than out of a desire to help Blaine, Jesse says, "Come here," and starts walking across the hall to another table. Blaine follows him, and Jesse takes stock of the weapons in front of them. He looks over at Blaine, sizing him up, deciding that he's stronger than he looks, and grabs one of the larger scythes from the table.

"Take it," he offers it to him, ignoring the now panicked look on Blaine's face. His hands close into fists, and Jesse sighs, repeating, "Take it." He all but shoves it into Blaine's hands, watching as he positions his grip around it.

"Your mentor told you not to touch these, didn't he?" Jesse guesses.

"No," Blaine is lying. He looks down at his hands when he speaks, his grip tightening on the handle. "No, she didn't."

"She?" Jesse raises an eyebrow. "Oh… your district only has one?"

"Yeah," Blaine shuffles his feet a bit. "Yeah, just Anita."

Jesse thinks back to games past, trying to place the name. While he doesn't have the memory for the names of tributes who had died, he does know the winners. It takes him a few moments, but then a smile breaks across his face, a glint appearing in his eyes.

"She's a genius," he says, making Blaine look back up at him, puzzled.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean she's a genius," Jesse repeats. "I remember her Games. She was brilliant, the way she outsmarted everyone, the way she relied on her cleverness rather than her physical strength. She's a good one to have on your side."

Blaine just stares. It takes Jesse a moment, but then he understands.

"You've never seen her Games," he guesses, and judging from the way Blaine's cheeks flush, he knows he's guessed correctly. "You should watch them," he decides. "Knowing what your mentor has been through really helps you understand what sort of advice they're giving you and why." He picks up a knife from the table and points it at Blaine, watching as the boy jumps and stumbles backwards.

"Don't do that," Jesse tells him. "You should know it's against the rules for us to harm each other before going into the arena. You're safe in here, even if there are sharp, pointy objects at our disposal." Blaine laughs nervously in response. Jesse glances over at Jewel, who is speaking to the girl from District Three, noticing that she still hasn't learned how to use makeup, as the bruise is still visible.

"Have at it," Jesse says as he turns back to Blaine, taking another knife for himself and heading over to one of the mannequins, feeling a bit stupid since it isn't a moving opponent, but attacking it anyway. He's so used to sparring with other careers that this feels like no challenge at all, but Jesse doesn't trust himself to not harm someone accidentally. He's the type of fighter who gets lost in his work, who forgets that the world around him exists. He gives himself completely over to this fight, even though it isn't real, not bothering to pause until his brow is damp with sweat and his breathing causes his chest to tighten.

Only then he knows he's done his best.

Satisfied, Jesse stops, heading for the archery station and shooting three arrows directly into the heart of the target. It's child's play, really, and he feels like all this training is a complete waste of his time. Of course, he's still looking forward to the rest of the time they've been given, but he finds himself wishing for a real opponent, someone he can train with and not have to worry about accidentally hurting them.

It would do everyone a world of good.

Jesse turns away from the station, and spots Blaine standing right where he'd left him, staring at him, scythe forgotten in his hands. Jesse smiles, but his brow creases. Has Blaine been standing there the whole time? The other seems to catch himself, and he quickly busies himself with pretending to look over the scythe, though Jesse knows his eyes aren't even seeing the weapon. Shaking his head, Jesse walks towards the far end of the hall, where there is a small basin for them to drink, giving Blaine a hard pat on the back as he passes him.

The night passes without much interest for Jesse. Jewel and her mentor jabber away about training, talking about potential allies. Jesse knows Jewel will want to pair off with the girl from District Three, if the way she's positively glowing while talking about her is any indication. He knows that he should be thinking the same, trying to figure out which tributes would best serve him as allies in the end, but part of him wants to make it through completely on his own. He doesn't need allies.

But it goes against the career tradition to not make at least one.

This is what finds Jesse approaching the very large boy from District Two the next day, asking if the boy would mind a sparring partner. They choose smooth, wooden swords that cannot cause much damage apart from a few bruises if you get hit, and begin a very casual match with each other.

It's nothing that challenging, and neither of them are trying very hard. It's not about trying to intimidate your partner or hurt them, but to show them that you are a worthwhile opponent. Jesse notices that the boy seems to drag his left foot, though that can easily be something he's put on for the sake of appearances, to surprise the others when they get into the arena. But he's strong and aggressive, exactly the type of ally Jesse wants.

They don't speak of this potential alliance, however, because everyone knows that you should wait until their individual scores come out. If this boy only gets a four, or even less, Jesse would no longer want to partner with him. He isn't in this to string people along, but to help one another make it into the final twelve, at least.

They're leaving the room after another day's hard work when he hears someone talking to him.

"You're very talented." He turns, noticing that it is Blaine, the boy he'd spoken to yesterday.

"I know," he says, not bothering to say thank you. It's not a compliment; it's a fact.

"Are you going to partner up with him?" Blaine asks, and Jesse knows he's talking about the boy from District Two. He frowns, because that's an odd question to ask, especially from someone who hasn't shown any decent ability in training thus far. It's not like they're both from the same District and are expected to speak of such things, either.

"I haven't decided yet," Jesse answers honestly.

"He'll eat all the food," Blaine tells him, causing Jesse to actually stop walking to stare at the boy. But Blaine continues, explaining, "I'm not just saying that because of his size. Sure, a body like that requires adequate sustenance to survive and it would be foolish for him not to eat if food is available, but he's the type who doesn't understand conservation. We see people like that all the time in my district. My uncle's like that: greedy. He'll eat all the food and won't care if it means his allies go hungry."

Jesse wants to ask what Blaine has to back this up, other than an uncle who is supposedly the same build as this boy, but instead he asks, "And you won't eat all the food, is that what I'm supposed to be getting out of this?"

Blaine's face turns pink.

"I wasn't… I mean… that's not what I–"

"Alliances are made after we each are scored," Jesse reminds him. "And if you'd like to be considered by anyone, not just me, it would be in your best interests to start doing something in training, not just stand around watching everyone else. Nobody wants to end up having to protect someone else, and if you don't start showing some real ability, that's what everyone's going to think you'll be. You'll be dead weight, dismissed before you've even started."

"I don't want to make alliances," Blaine blurts out. "I just… I just want to help."

"I don't need any help."

"Oh," Blaine looks down at the floor, then back up at Jesse. "Okay. I just… I just thought we were helping each other. Because of… yesterday."

"All I did was put a weapon in your hand," Jesse reminds him. "It's not like I taught you how to use it."

Blaine doesn't say anything in response, but Jesse can see him chewing on the inside of his lip, like he wants to say something but is either embarrassed or doesn't know how to put it into words.

"We're not here to make friends," Jesse reminds him. "We're here to fight each other in an attempt to stay alive. Friendships are counter-productive." He offers a tight-lipped smile, then continues walking back towards his room. A hand closes on his upper arm, and he turns back, surprised and amused at Blaine's sudden aggressiveness.

"I'm going to die the first day," Blaine tells him. "I've know that since they pulled my name and I know there's nothing I can do to change that. I'm not a fighter and I have nothing to offer anyone as an ally. But I could use a friend."

His grip is tight, but not out of the intent of causing harm. He's almost desperate, in a sense, trying to keep Jesse from leaving not by his own strength, but by what he's saying. The grip on his arm is just a formality.

"I don't want to die surrounded by people who hate me," Blaine continues. "I want there to be at least one friendly face there for me, at least one person who isn't hell-bent on causing my death. And I know it's a lot to ask, especially from someone like you, but I thought… I thought after yesterday that maybe you wouldn't mind."

"I mind," Jesse says automatically, tugging his arm out of Blaine's grip. "I can't be distracted, Blaine, not when my life is at stake. You should start to focus on yours, too."

"What's the point?" Blaine asks softly. "I'm going to die anyway."

"You certainly will, with that attitude." Jesse starts to walk away from him again, but Blaine calls after him.

"Answer me one question," he requests. "If it came down to it, would you kill me?"

Jesse turns.

"Yes."

Blaine tries not to let his disappointment show, but his lower lip actually quivers. Jesse doesn't understand why he's so upset. The whole point of the games is to win, after all, and if you hesitate to kill someone, you've already lost. It should be common knowledge that everyone in the arena will kill everyone else in that arena without a second thought. So he turns and continues walking back up to his room, almost missing it when Blaine tells him, "For what it's worth, I wouldn't kill you."


	4. Chapter 4

Their scores come out after three more days of training. Jesse had been the first to go into the private room, so he of course had gotten it out of the way quickly, heading back to his room and not bothering to try to train or strategize for the rest of the day. He found it much more productive to stay away from the others while they waited, stay away from everyone involved in the Games, because this was the day when their fates would be decided.

Everyone uses this day to strategize, anyway, but Jesse's been doing that since he arrived. He deserves one day to let go of his concerns and just take advantage of the fact that he is in the Capitol, doesn't he?

He does leap from his window down into the streets this time, completely unperturbed that he's just jumped two stories. That's nothing to be concerned about, and he lands with catlike agility, beginning to wander around the streets with no idea where he's headed. It's nice, taking a break, even if it might have been wiser to spend the day training.

He buys food from a cart a few blocks away, because he's never bought food from a cart before and he thinks it sounds potentially dangerous and delicious at the same time. And he's right, because the man behind the cart looks like he hasn't washed his hands for a month, but the sandwich he hands over is fantastic and Jesse eats it happily as he continues to explore. He doesn't stick out here, even though everyone knows who he is. He fits in well with those in the Capitol, and he finds himself entertaining the possibility of moving here himself once he wins the Games. Unlike some, he isn't bothered by the Capitol's insistence that their districts continually show their submission. He doesn't like it, but once he wins, he'll be above all that nonsense.

Nobody comes searching for him, and nobody even seems to have noticed he'd left once he returns. Jesse figures it's because they know he wouldn't run anywhere; he wants to go into the arena and wouldn't try to escape. He's almost resentful, because that means he's predictable and they think they can get inside his head. Maybe he ought to give them a real scare by disappearing for more than a few hours, see what happens if he finds a nice Capitol family and spends the night with them instead.

But there are far more pressing matters at hand, because they're about to see their scores. Jesse sits with Henri and Jewel and her mentor, noticing again that she has yet to cover up her bruise properly. Jesse wonders, for a split second, if she's hoping somebody will notice it and ask her about it, though he's sure nobody has.

His score comes first, and he's not surprised to see a ten below his picture. Jewel is positively enraged when she gets an eight, because apparently she'd assumed that he was all talk. Jesse just sits there and grins while she seethes beside him, both of them ignoring Henri's wasted comments of, "Now, now, children, you're supposed to get along. District allegiance and all that."

The boy from District Two gets a seven, which surprises Jesse but also makes him think that the boy might have played up his limp a bit, in order to get a lower score and not be as big of a target. He's never really decided which would be better: getting a lower score on purpose and hope to be ignored or get a higher score and have people afraid to confront you.

The girl from District Three gets a ten, which surprises Jewel for some reason. Perhaps she'd thought that she was the more experienced and skilled of the two, despite the clear indications that the other girl was better suited for the games in almost every single way.

He's surprised when the girl from District Four and the boy from District Five both get eights. They hadn't seemed all that impressive, but apparently both of them were more talented than they look. He makes a mental note to look into an alliance with the girl, because he thinks the boy seems a little too nice to be trusted. The tributes from Districts Six and Seven combined don't even add up to ten with their scores, but then the girl from District Eight is awarded a ten. That's three people in the double digits, including him. Jesse's already looking forward to the challenge.

Blaine is awarded a three, which doesn't surprise Jesse at all. He thinks it's good that he hadn't managed to get the lowest score, since there was a whole string of ones and twos, but a three isn't impressive at all. Blaine's a dead man walking, unless he's managed to fool everyone and is actually a trained serial killer waiting to get into the arena before slaughtering them all.

Jesse decides that's highly unlikely, and also decides that the fact that the girl from District Eleven and the boy from District Twelve had been given nines is much more interesting.

"I want Ramona," Jewel is saying, and Jesse has absolutely no idea who that is, but he's guessing it's the girl from District Three. "I don't know who that other girl who got a ten was, but I want her, too. The best of the best; it makes sense to team up, doesn't it?" She turns to her mentor for approval.

"You got an eight," Jesse reminds her, not even bothering to look over at her. "Chances are they'll take a lot better to an offer from me."

"Says the boy who hasn't made friends with anyone except a three," Jewel shoots back at him. Jesse looks over at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and the way a few strands of hair have come loose from her ponytail.

"I don't have any friends," he reminds her. "But tomorrow I'm making an alliance with the boy from District Two, the girl from District Four, the girl from District Eleven, and the boy from District Twelve. Maybe I'll go after one of the two you want, just to see if my theory holds."

It isn't lost on anyone that Jesse isn't interested in allying himself with either of the two other tens. He doesn't even want an alliance with those he'd mentioned, at least not all of them, because larger alliances are much more dangerous. But Jesse thinks it might be a good idea, after all, to go into the arena with at least a handful of people who know what they're doing and wouldn't try to kill him right away. At least then they'd be able to get a feel for the arena itself before having to go off on their own.

"You're very set on Limpy," Jewel sneers, and Jesse knows she's talking about the boy from District Two. "He'll just slow you down."

"And you're very set on surrounding yourself with the best," Jesse counters. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out how that will end." He sighs a very heavy and very fake sigh, adding, "At least you're not deluding yourself into thinking I'll help you."

Then he leaves, heading back to his room so Jewel doesn't see the giant grin on his face. Because he isn't planning to ally himself with any of those people, except maybe the girl from District Four. He just knows that Jewel is so dead-set on beating him that she'll do anything that she thinks will give her a leg up on him, so of course tomorrow she'd be chatting up those he'd mentioned, trying to get with them before he can. And while he doesn't particularly want to ally himself with the others who had gotten tens, Jesse has to admit that at least getting on their good side would probably do _him_ some good.

Sure enough, Jewel is talking with the boy from District Two when Jesse arrives for the next day's training. Without even sparing a second glance, he goes right over to Ramona and the girl from District Eight, who are already talking over the weapons table.

"It's only fitting," Ramona is saying when he approaches. "We're the two strongest ones here, so of course we should become allies. Together we'd be unstoppable." She notices Jesse and smiles at him, and he knows it's genuine. "You too, Jesse." She knows his name. "The three of us. We should team up."

"The three tens," the girl from District Eight seems intrigued, if her half-smile is any indication. "Yeah… yeah, I like that. I like it a lot."

"I'm in," Jesse agrees. "But I want one more person as well."

"Who?" Ramona seems surprised, raising an eyebrow.

"The girl from District Four," Jesse says without hesitation.

"She's an eight," Ramona makes a face. "Why should we want her?" Jesse clucks his tongue.

"Don't get too cliquey," he warns. "We'll become targets that much easier if everyone thinks we've written them all off. They'll want to prove us wrong. And while of course their opinions are of no consequence, we really don't want to have everyone against us from the get-go. Let them think they have a chance of joining us, and they'll be less likely to go for the kill if a fight arises."

"Smart," the girl from District Eight is nodding. "Very smart. What's her name?"

"I don't know," Jesse and Ramona admit together. The girl from District Eight sighs and rolls her eyes, then says sarcastically, "And my name's Lis, in case you didn't know." Neither Jesse nor Ramona reacts to give indication either way, but internally Jesse is relieved. But he's still the one who walks over to the other girl when she enters, offering a hand and introducing himself.

"I know who you are," she tells him. "My name's Dawn, though, because I can tell you only introduced yourself so that I'd do the same." She's clever. Jesse likes her immediately. "And I also know that you want me to be in your alliance, probably because you think I'd be the weak link and it'd be easy to get rid of me if you had to. So here's my stipulation." She looks over towards the far end of the room, where those whose scores didn't even break a five have all started to hover. "Pick one of them to come along, and I'll be in your little group."

She's _very_ clever.

Jesse walks her back to Ramona and Lis, who greet her cordially, though it's clear to both Jesse and Dawn that they've come up with some kind of ploy to get rid of her in his absence. Regardless of his warnings, they want it to be just the three of them with top marks, and this much becomes clear when Dawn repeats her demand to them, and Ramona instantly says, "Get the kid who got a one."

"Don't be ridiculous," Jesse says, rolling his eyes.

"Fine, then," Ramona's jaw tightens. "A two. There are plenty of those to choose from."

"It should at least be a three," Lis tries. "Otherwise it's obvious."

"It's obvious either way," Ramona argues. "Nobody's going to fall for that."

"Get the kid from District Ten," Dawn instructs. "He's stupid enough to believe it."

"Who, Blaine?" Jesse turns to look at her, confused. Blaine might not know how these Games work, but even he's not stupid enough to fall for that.

"Exactly," Dawn grins at him. "Go get your puppy dog, Jesse."

It's clear what she's trying to do. She thinks that Jesse has some sort of pre-existing friendship with Blaine, that he'd be happy to go over and offer the other an place in their group. She thinks it's the only way to ensure her own safety, because if one of them has a soft spot for someone with a lower number, they'll be that much more hesitant to kill him, which means they'll be that much more hesitant to kill her, too, because they'd need her to compensate for the others' failings.

"I don't want an alliance with him," Jesse shakes his head. "Besides, he's not my puppy dog."

"You didn't know my name and yet you knew his," Dawn reminds him.

"He likes you," Lis nods. "It's obvious. Out of anyone, he'd be the most likely to take us up on the offer."

"No, he wouldn't," Jesse argues quietly. "He's already resigned himself to the fact that he's going to die. I told him that I would kill him if it ever did come down to the pair of us, by some miracle. Why would he think I'd change my mind now?"

"Because genius needs an audience," Ramona grins wickedly. "You're a career surrounded by the best of the best. You're not so special anymore, Jesse. We're on an equal playing field. You need someone to worship you."

"I do not," Jesse crosses his arms, because no, he really doesn't.

"But that's what everyone else will think," Ramona continues. "It's foolproof. Dawn gets her insurance policy, and we get the strongest four competitors in the arena. So go get him."

This is exactly what Jesse didn't want to have to do. He doesn't want to string someone along like dead weight, least of all someone like Blaine, who seems kind and noble and everything the Games are not. He doesn't want it to ever come down to the two of them, because that is a coward's win, and adding Blaine to their alliance makes it five times more likely that something like that will happen, especially since Ramona is in this alliance, too. She's supposed to be the one to kill Blaine, not the one dragging him around making sure he stays alive.

But then again, she and Lis already seem to have an ulterior motive, so maybe that isn't so unlikely after all.

"Hey," Jesse says, approaching what seems to be the wall of shame, given the people standing along it. They all look up at him, a mix of terror and hope in their faces. He looks directly at Blaine, saying, "I want you in my group."

Blaine raises an eyebrow.

"What happened to 'I don't need any help'?" Blaine parrots back at him. "Or, more importantly, the fact that you said you'd kill me if I got in your way?"

"The killing part is kind of a given, seeing what we're supposed to be doing in that arena," Jesse says tersely, trying not to get annoyed. "And I still don't need any help. But you do. And maybe I'm feeling a bit generous, or maybe I just don't want to be the only guy in a group of girls. Pick the reason you like best."

"I'd rather not," Blaine folds his arms across his chest.

"So you'd rather die? You would honestly and truly rather die than give yourself a chance?"

"I don't have a chance," Blaine tells him. "You'd kill me. Those three girls in your group would kill me. I'd rather go it alone and die quickly than prolong it, thanks."

"Prolong it?" Jesse stares at him. "You're missing the point. The whole point of these Games is to actually _try_, even if you don't think you will make it. I know you don't care and you think it's better to just resign yourself to your fate or however it is you'd like to romanticize these things, but just for a second think about someone other than yourself. Think about the people you left behind, about how in a few days, they'll be watching you. Your entire family is going to watch you _die_, Blaine. So what kind of death are you going to leave them with?"

He turns on his heel and goes back to the three girls, shaking his head as he goes. All three of them are wearing identical expressions of disappointment, but Jesse just says, "Don't worry about it. He'll either come round, or we can get someone else tomorrow. So, let's talk strategy."


	5. Chapter 5

_This one's a shorty mcshort short. Whoops._

* * *

><p>There's a knock on the door to their suite later that evening. It's clear from the look on Henri's face that he isn't expecting anyone, and judging from the way Jewel walks back towards her room, she's assuming it's for someone else. So Jesse goes to open it, not entirely shocked when he sees that it's Blaine on the other side.<p>

"Can I talk to you?" Blaine asks him, looking much more fidgety than usual.

"If you must," Jesse sounds (and is) exasperated, but he steps out of their suite and shuts the door behind himself, starting to walk down the corridor without waiting for Blaine to fall into step beside him. Blaine does, but it takes almost half a minute before he decides that he does want to walk side by side with Jesse.

"I've been thinking," Blaine starts by way of explanation, "and I think I want to join your group."

"I knew you'd come around," Jesse says without even a glance in Blaine's direction. There's a moment or two of silence. Then:

"Oh."

"Oh?" Jesse turns his head, taking in Blaine's disappointed expression. He frowns, then stops walking, looking around for a place to sit. When none presents itself, he simply leans against the wall, looking over at Blaine with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought… I thought you'd be more surprised."

Jesse can't help but laugh. It's clear that Blaine has misjudged him, doesn't know that one of his many strengths is strategy. He watches people and learns about them, using that information to his advantage when it comes time to plan. And while he knows that Blaine likes to think he's too noble to take part in the Games, he also knows that the boy is scared. Scared people make stupid decisions rather than sticking to their guns, and Blaine is making one right now.

"Well, you don't have to be all… annoying about it," Blaine tells him, so Jesse shuts up.

"Welcome aboard," he tells the boy, who instead of looking pleased that Jesse didn't revoke the offer, looks a bit sick.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Blaine shakes his head. "I shouldn't. I still don't want to. Just for the record."

"Then why are you?" Jesse already knows the answer.

"You make a decent argument," Blaine begins, but Jesse interrupts with, "Decent?"

"All right, a good one," Blaine concedes, cracking a smile. "I just… it really struck me, what you said. I know I'm going to die, but… but I don't want to die a coward's death. And that's what this Game does, doesn't it? It turns your convictions and reservations into cowardice." He glances up, meeting Jesse's eyes for a split second, as if seeking agreement or approval.

"I suppose," is all Jesse offers, but it seems that's good enough for Blaine. He pushes himself off the wall and begins walking back towards his suite, but Blaine calls after him. He turns.

"I have a stipulation of my own," Blaine tells him. Jesse raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not stupid," Blaine says. "I know you and the others have some sort of reason for dragging me around. You wouldn't have changed your mind unless they gave you an ultimatum. So I want there to be an agreement between us. _Just_ us." He steps closer. "These Games are cruel. There are people in there who wouldn't hesitate to make a kill go on for ages if they're afforded the means and the safety to do so. And I'm going to die. So," he bites his lip, rocking onto his heels then back onto his feet, "I want you to kill me."

Jesse frowns. He'd been expecting something like this, if he was being honest. Blaine clearly doesn't want to drag out his death, which is what he equates with surviving part of the Games. He probably would have been one of those idiots who stepped off his platform too early – on purpose – because he wanted it to be quick. But somehow Jesse had talked him out of that, and yet he clearly hadn't talked him out of dying.

"Why?" Jesse asks, because he's not entirely sure he likes this arrangement.

"Because… I just told you," Blaine seems confused.

"How do you know I'm not one of those sadistic people?" Jesse counters. He's not even sure himself that he wouldn't be capable of doing something like that. If he was to make it to the final two with someone he hated, someone who got under his skin, he might do just that. Because the fact of the matter is that Jesse is a trained killer. He's not a compassionate person and he's not asking Blaine to tag along out of any sort of fondness or charity. So for Blaine to think that he's above the dirty tricks of the Games, when Jesse is in fact alive with exhilaration at seeing just what may be thrown at them, is almost insulting.

"You're not," Blaine shakes his head, but his voice quavers. "You… you were nice to me."

"I was cordial to you," Jesse corrects. "There's a difference between friends and allies, Blaine. You should know that. I might have offered you a spot in our alliance, but that doesn't mean we're friends."

"No, I know," Blaine insists, but he still sounds as though he's about to cry. "I just… Do you want to know why I got a three?" he asks suddenly, and despite himself, Jesse gestures for him to continue.

"I got a three because I can't fight. I'm not strong. I can run okay, but I can't run and strategize at the same time. I can't tie proper knots. But I can read people. I can tell things about them, figure them out, but that's all I have. And unless I climb up a tree and manage to sit there undiscovered for the whole Games, I'll die. I'm not worth anything to anyone, Jesse.

"Even back at home, I was nothing special. My parents didn't approve of my… my _sexuality_." He spits out the word like it tastes foul. "They don't approve of me. I'm not much use when it comes to harvesting or plowing or anything practical. I just mind the shop while my father's out working. I _mind the shop!_" He shouts it, eyes welling up with tears now, and despite himself, Jesse feels his own jaw tighten.

"That's all I'll ever be. Don't you get it? I'm a nobody. I don't mean anything to anyone, and I thought that maybe by some miracle, I'd find someone here I can actually trust. That even though you said you'd kill me and that you're not here to make friends, you still put a scythe in my hand. I thought that meant something. I thought that meant… that it… I thought you'd at least do me one favor, since killing me would look good for you in the end." His brow furrows, so tightly that his eyebrows knit together. "But that's all it is for you, isn't it? It's all about the final tally, and killing as many people as possible so that even if you don't win, you still win in everyone else's minds.

"You might think you can lecture me on what these Games mean, but you've got it all wrong. Winning means everything to you, but you're already losing. Nobody will remember you, Jesse. Even if you come out of this alive, nobody will look twice at you after a year, two years, a decade. You'll be just another tribute that killed a bunch of kids for his own selfish reasons."

Blaine's breath is coming short, tears on his face and his cheeks bright red. Jesse stares at him, wondering if any of that was supposed to have moved him, if he was supposed to care that Blaine doesn't have friends or that after a year he wouldn't be the top dog anymore. He almost pities the boy, in all his naïveté and innocence.

"You're right," Jesse begins. "After next years' Games, I won't be a big deal anymore. But that's not the point. The point of these Games is to give it your best, to try as hard as you can no matter what. Because maybe to you it doesn't matter who won lat year or the year before that or the year before that, but you know something? To those people, it matters. It will always matter. It matters because if they hadn't won, they would be dead."

He breathes out slowly through his nostrils, trying not to let Blaine see that he's frustrated at his lack of comprehension.

"I'd like to live," Jesse tells him plainly. "I don't want to die. And if killing twenty-three other people is the price for my life, then so be it. And if you think that makes me selfish, then that's no concern of mine."

Blaine just stares at him, tears leaking from his wide eyes, hands shaking and body trembling.

"H-how… what are you?" he finally asks.

"I'm a tribute," Jesse answers simply.

"What if I was your brother?" Blaine tries, but Jesse cuts him short.

"The Games don't work that way. One female and one male, remember?"

"Your sister, then," Blaine amends.

"I'd tell her that we are to remain at opposite ends of the arena at all times and hope somebody else kills her before I have to."

"You can't be serious," Blaine laughs, both hands scrubbing at his face, trying to rid it of tears. "No, you… this _has_ to be some sort of sick joke."

"How many times do you want me to say it?" Jesse's voice rises, his patience breaking. "I'm not a good person. There, I put it into terms you can understand. I'm selfish and I put myself before everyone else. I want to win the Games and I don't care who gets thrown in my way; I will kill them if it comes down to me and them. And yes, I am perfectly fine with that."

Blaine is shaking his head. He's clearly assumed that Jesse isn't like the others, put stock in his made-up belief that Jesse would somehow end up liking him. Jesse isn't quite sure how Blaine came to that conclusion, but he does know one thing. This boy definitely shouldn't have been given a three. Try a zero.

"I was wrong about you," Blaine decides. "I was so, so wrong."

"Obviously," Jesse tells him. A more tactful person wouldn't have said anything, but Jesse isn't being polite or observing normal social niceties.

"Answer me one question," Blaine requests, and Jesse raises both eyebrows to show that he's listening. "What would you do if someday, there was something that became more important to you? If suddenly something mattered more than winning?"

"I wouldn't know what to do with myself," Jesse answers quickly and simply.

"Well, I hope to live to see that day," Blaine says, sarcasm dripping from every word, before he turns and storms back down the hallway. Jesse knows he's trying to make him feel bad, knows that Blaine is trying to appear determined, but he doesn't miss the way one hand goes back to his face, no doubt to wipe at his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Jesse pointedly arrives in the training room early the next day. Dawn is there already, talking to the boy from District Two. Jesse walks over to them, not missing how both of them lower their voices while he approaches, then quickly start talking about shoes – of all things – once he's within earshot.

"Don't try that with me," he reprimands the pair of them. "I know you two are planning something." He'd had his suspicions about Dawn, as well as Ramona and Lis, as soon as he'd 'allied' with them. Now that he's seen these two talking, that's all the proof he needs that Dawn doesn't trust either of the other two girls, and probably doesn't trust him, either.

"I want in," he says without preamble, even though he really doesn't.

"Why?" Dawn asks him, crossing her arms.

"Because Ramona and Lis are probably going to slit your throat one night, and I'm not about to let them get the better of me."

"You?" Dawn laughs. "How is it getting the better of you when I'm the one getting killed?"

"Because including you was my idea," Jesse admits. Then he holds out a hand to the boy from District Two. "What do you say?" He'd wanted this boy in an alliance since the beginning, since he's great at close combat even though he has really been playing up his limp. Jesse can tell; it's been fluctuating every day.

"Yeah," the boy nods, shaking Jesse's hand.

"Geoff," Dawn starts, but the boy – Geoff, apparently – cuts her off. "No, it's a good idea."

"You're clever," Jesse tells Dawn, though he's not paying her a compliment. "That's your strength. So be clever now and realize that I'm not trying to double-cross you. I want to win – I want to live – just as much as you do, and forming a completely fake alliance with two of the most dangerous girls in the arena is going to work to our advantage. Ramona and Lis have something planned already; I can tell. We just have to beat them to the punch, and I'd much rather have you in on the plan than trying to do it on my own."

Lie.

"Okay," she nods. "What about Blaine?"

_Fuck_. He'd really been hoping she would have forgotten about him.

"He's… he's not interested in an alliance anymore," Jesse says honestly. Dawn raises both eyebrows, but the others have started to trickle in, and Jesse isn't about to be found out before the games have even started. He just offers Geoff a small smile that's probably more of a grimace, and then heads over to one of the stations, not really paying any mind to where he's going.

It's archery, and Jewel is already standing there, shooting arrow after arrow at the target. Jesse, smirking, sneaks up behind her and asks, "Pretending to shoot me?" right as she's about to release her last arrow. She jumps and the arrow flies wildly off its mark. Turning to scowl at him, she looks like she wants to hit him, but Jesse just keeps on smirking and heads to another station. It's all about getting her riled up, so she doesn't have a level head in the games. He can already see what will happen to her. She'll come after him in the bloodbath, not noticing someone else coming her way, and that will be it for her.

It's a shame, really, representing District One so poorly, but Jesse's not really all that fussed. He'll make up for it when he wins.

He's scoping out the room for a potential sparring partner when someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns, and it's Blaine, who looks smaller than Jesse remembered and like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"My mentor says I have to be in your stupid alliance," Blaine tells him.

"Smart mentor," Jesse nods. "Okay."

"That's it?" Blaine raises an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?" Jesse mirrors the expression. Had Blaine been expecting him to say no?

"You hate me," Blaine reminds him, which makes Jesse laugh. Affronted, Blaine crosses his arms and asks, "What?"

"Hatred is relative to survival," Jesse tells him.

"Everything's relative to survival to you," Blaine says with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't do that," Jesse warns him. "We've already had this conversation, where you try to guilt me into giving a shit, and you ended up crying the last time." Blaine's eyes start to look glassy, shining. "You keep saying how you've resigned yourself to dying, that you don't care about trying to get out alive, and that's great, good for you. It makes it easier on those of us who actually do want to live. So don't fault us for that."

"I'm not faulting you," Blaine's arms tighten across his chest, though his eyes remain shining. "I just feel bad for you."

Jesse frowns at him for a few moments, not saying anything. Then: "Okay, that's nice. So why don't you go tell Dawn that you're back in, and she can hopefully tell you something that'll help you not be useless. Because I'm really sick of your attitude."

He ends up sparring with the boy from District Twelve, filing away how the boy moves and what side he favors. He's a little clumsy, which makes Jesse think he's holding himself back. He's sick and tired of all this training; they've been trying to hide their true abilities for too long. He's ready to just go into the arena and get it over with.

Ramona, Lis, Dawn, and Blaine all come over to him at the end of the training session to talk strategy. Each of them shares their strengths, deciding that since Jesse is physically the strongest, he should be the one fighting towards the cornucopia during the bloodbath. Ramona will have his back, while Lis and Dawn will each try to grab the supplies stationed furthest away from the cornucopia and throw them back towards the thing. It's a dirty tactic, taking away as much as possible from the others, but survival is important.

Blaine, whose self-proclaimed strength is "nothing," has been instructed to run and double back once the fighting is over. He clearly hates this plan, but all four of the others give him a stern look, so he agrees. The three girls leave, and Blaine's about to follow when Jesse takes him by the arm and hauls him off to the side.

"Don't do it." is all he says.

"Do what?" Blaine asks.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Jesse tells him, because he just knows that Blaine is thinking of running straight into the middle of the bloodbath and getting himself killed on purpose. Or maybe he'll trip off his platform. Jesse's seen that happen before.

"Can you just give it a rest?" Blaine snaps. "You're a career, you've been training for this for your whole life, good for you. And now I'm somehow stuck in your group, and I'm supposed to run away like a coward, just so you can drag me along and kill me later. I don't want to die like that."

"Then how do you want to die?" Jesse argues, his patience snapping. "Do you want to fall off your fucking platform and look like a wimp? Or would you rather have your name blended in with everyone else who dies in the bloodbath? At least this way people will remember you."

"I don't care!" Blaine shouts. "I don't fucking care about being remembered for something that pathetic! If people remember me, I want it to be because I did something that actually meant something. I _hate_ this. I hate that they're throwing children into some stupid arena to kill each other. I hate that I'm a part of it. I hate what I'm being asked to do, because I don't kill people for fun, Jesse. I'm not enjoying this. It's completely _sick_, and maybe if you actually _looked_ at what's going on instead of looking at the end result, you'd realize that you're nothing more than a puppet they've manipulated into doing exactly what they want."

Acting completely out of impulse and unable to stop himself, Jesse takes a swing at Blaine. The other boy is able to duck his head, and not a moment too soon, because when Jesse's fist collides with the wall behind him, his fingers graze Blaine's ear.

"The truth fucking hurts," Blaine says with a smirk, then shoulders past him towards the door.

Jesse glares after him. Blaine has no idea what he's talking about. Jesse isn't some puppet, trained to do exactly as he's told. The Games aren't a show; it's a matter of life and death. Winning is something to be proud of, something that will make him set for life. It's an opportunity for something better. Sure, Jesse might be from the richest district and from a wealthy family at that, but winning the Games, being famous, being known throughout the Capitol, having his own fucking mansion… That's something to be proud of.

They're not puppets. If they were puppets, the Capitol would have so many restrictions. Volunteers wouldn't be allowed. Career tributes wouldn't be allowed. They'd probably reap kids younger and younger instead of having actual rules about this sort of thing.

The Capitol could have easily wiped out all twelve districts if they wanted, but instead they had allowed them to live. If sending off two kids each year was the price to live in peace, then really, what was the problem with that? That was the whole point in having Career tributes. Then you'd know that someone from your district would be coming home.

Jesse punches the wall again, feeling the skin on his knuckles split.

"Fuck," he looks down at his had, now bloodied. He can't afford to get upset like this. They're due to start the Games in two days; he has to be presentable and at his prime, not sporting a bandaged hand right from the start.

He goes back to their suite, where Jewel is screaming about something while both mentors are trying to calm her down. Jesse walks straight past all three of them and into the bathroom, filling the sink with hot, soapy water. Then he plunges his hand into it, barely even noticing the sting. This is nothing. Once he'd had his entire shoulder torn open, and he hadn't made a sound while getting patched up.

Forgoing a bandage and just wrapping his hand in a towel, Jesse heads back out into their main room. Jewel has stopped shouting, but is sitting on the couch with her legs drawn up to her chest, his hair all over the place and her face red.

"I hate you," she tells him.

"Noted," he replies with a smirk, glad that at least one thing had gone to plan.

"You two," Jewel's mentor beings, clearly thinking that Jesse will stick around to listen, "are supposed to be teammates. You're from the same District, and–"

"I'm going out," Jesse says loudly, pushing through the door and ignoring her calls after him. Henri ha disappeared, and unless he turns up and tells Jesse he needs to stay put and be lectured like a toddler sneaking cookies, he's not about to subject himself to that. Even if Henri did tell him to stay, he probably wouldn't have listened.

He doesn't go far, just outside to a small garden right next to the wall of the building. He sits down on a stone bench, looking around at the carefully sculpted and altogether ridiculously artificial plants, lip curling into a snarl. Even he can tell this is all fake, the perfumes from the flowers coming from somewhere else. It might look pretty from a distance, but up close it just looks extravagant and messy.

Nobody in District One has a fake garden like this. They have real gardens with real flowers, and even though Jesse's never bothered to sit in one before, he's suddenly overwhelmed with just how fake this one is. The colors are too bright, the leaves too waxy, every petal on every flower the same shape. To the untrained eye or a casual observer, this may pass for something real, but to someone sitting in it, it's disgustingly fake. He wonders if this is what the arena will look like, fake plants everywhere with cameras hidden inside of them, mutated animals running around trying to hunt them all down. He wonders if that will mean there's no food. It probably wouldn't be that hard for the Capitol to try. After all, they'd stuck Henri's bunch into a frozen wasteland. Why not put this year's batch of tributes in a forest made of plastic?

He's seconds away from plucking a flower and tasting it, just to see if these really are made of plastic or if they are made of something edible, when he hears footsteps. Looking up, he recognizes Geoff, who seems surprised to find him here.

"I didn't take you for a nature kind of guy," Geoff says with an attempt at a smile.

"This isn't real nature," Jesse points out.

"True," Geoff shrugs. "But it's close enough, all things considered." He sits down next to Jesse on the bench. "Reveling in the last minute quiet before it all goes to Hell?"

"Something like that," Jesse admits.

"So what's the plan, then?" Geoff asks. "Not to interrupt the quiet, but we need one, and now's as good a time as any to figure it out."

"What's there to plan?" Jesse shrugs. "Dawn and Blaine and I are going to pretend to be in an alliance with Ramona and Lis, and once those two start to seem fidgety, we'll kill them and come join up with you."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"And how are you planning on finding me?"

"Well, that's up to you," Jesse says honestly. "We'll have enough on our hands trying to keep them from figuring shit out. Maybe we can talk Blaine into being the carrier pigeon or something."

"He's not gonna like that," Geoff laughs.

"Well, it's better than running away, which he hates even more," Jesse finds himself sharing. Geoff frowns.

"Did you tell him that half the tributes run anyway?" he asks. "No offense, but that kid would be slaughtered in the bloodbath, but if he's so stuck on liking what he's doing, it might help knowing that."

"What are you going to do when the Games start?" Jesse asks.

"Fight my way through until I get whatever I have my eye on," Geoff tells him. "And I will cut you down if you get in my way, even with this double-crossing alliance plan."

"Same goes to you," Jesse's smiling when he says it. "Stay out of my way."

It's strange, how he doesn't actually feel threatened talking like this to Geoff. There's something about him that Jesse likes, something calming that makes him seem trustworthy, and even while threatening each other's lives, Jesse feels completely comfortable.

"Well, here's hoping we get stationed on opposite sides," Geoff says after a few moments of silence.

"And if we end up next to each other, run the other way," Jesse decides. "If I'm on your left, run right, and vice versa."

"Deal."

He leaves Geoff in that fake garden and goes back inside. Part of him wants to go run the whole carrier pigeon deal by Blaine, but the other part of him is so tremendously pissed at him that he doesn't even want to think about him, let alone speak to him. He feels personally insulted, because Blaine has no idea what these Games mean to some people. What they mean to him.

For however long the Games take place, everyone in all twelve Districts and the Capitol are unified. They might be cheering for different tributes, but they're all doing the same thing. They're all watching together. That kind of unification takes something powerful, something meaningful, and Jesse's the one who's going to be a part of that now. Not only will he be famous, be the victor, but he'll have been a part of something that's bigger than just him.

_You're just a puppet._

He has to stop himself from slamming his fist against the wall again.

He's not a puppet. He's not doing this just for everyone else's enjoyment. He's doing it for himself, for his own satisfaction. He's doing it to stay alive. He's doing it to win the Games.

The name strikes him, right there, for the first time. These Games have been taking place since before Jesse was born. That's just what they're called. It's not really a game, because games don't have live and death consequences. It was just a name, a title, something catchy.

The Hunger Games.

A game where twenty four kids fight to the death, and only one gets out alive. A game where there are no friendships, just allies, where everything has a purpose, where any second could be the last one he spends alive.

It's nothing more than a movie to all of them. They watch it on their giant television screens, are completely detached from it. They've never met the tributes apart from the parade and those stupid interviews. It's just a movie they can turn off whenever it gets too much, whenever they get bored, whenever nothing's happening.

That wasn't how he'd seen it. His entire life, he'd watched those screens with his eyes as wide as saucers. He'd watched the big kids from the training center in the middle of the city go off to fight, looked for their faces, and felt like a tiny bit of himself was there with them. It had changed once he'd gotten older, of course, but when he had been a small boy, he'd idolized those boys and girls. He'd wanted to be just like them, and as soon as he was old enough, he'd told his parents he wanted to train to be a Career tribute.

They'd been overjoyed, sending him down the street immediately to get fitted for a uniform, to take preliminary tests, to find out if he had any physical deficiencies or allergies that would keep him from performing to the best of his ability. His little five-year-old body had been stuck with needle after needle after needle, and he'd just sat there, watching replays of the old Games while they kept doing those tests.

And when he'd been accepted and went off to be educated and trained with the others, Jesse couldn't have been happier.

Had all of that really just been a lie? Was he the only one who felt like that, him and the other Careers? Maybe everyone else in the District hated the Games, used them as a way to ensure that their own children would never end up in the arena. It wasn't about bringing glory to their district at all; it was about sending others off to fight in their places.

Jesse glares at the door to their suite, having unconsciously walked back there. He doesn't want to be here, with Jewel and her mentor and possible Henri. He doesn't want to be anywhere connected with the Games of the Capitol, because how else is he supposed to figure all this out? He feels like the world has been ripped out from underneath him, and he starts stumbling down the hallway, back the way he'd come. He wants somewhere quiet and peaceful, somewhere simple, somewhere that isn't pumped full of fake perfumes and manicured to the point of being unrecognizable.

He ends up in front of Blaine's door, his head pressed against the wall next to it, unable to bring himself to knock. He can hear people speaking on the other side, and then there's actually _laughter_, and it's more out of curiosity than anything else that finds Blaine knocking.

The girl tribute is the one who opens the door, and she jumps at the sight of him. He hasn't really paid her much mind until right now, but she's a skinny little stick of a thing, even if he can tell she's got some muscle, not just skin and bones.

"Um, Blaine?" she looks over her shoulder. "I think it's for you." She steps aside, and Jesse enters the room, shocked to see Blaine sitting cross-legged on the floor with the two mentors and an empty spot that could only be where the girl had just been sitting with them. There's a board game on the floor between them, though Jesse doesn't know what it is.

"Hey," Blaine greets him, looking surprised. He stands up. "I just took my turn, anyway, so you guys just… play without me for a while. Skip me if you want." He turns a teasing face onto the girl. "But no peeking at my cards." He steps outside into the hallway, waiting for Jesse to follow before closing the door behind them.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jesse asks him.

"What?" Blaine laughs. "We're not supposed to play games here?"

"That is a complete waste of time," he says dismissively.

"Having fun before I die is a waste of time?" Blaine raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't sound angry.

"Yes," Jesse says, even though he knows that doesn't really make sense, because everyone can spend their time however they please. "There are more important things you should be doing."

"Like?"

"Like listening to me."

Blaine sighs.

"Why bother? I'm going to die anyway and you hate me, so I might as well play a fucking board game and trip off my platform so I don't have to suffer through you playing twenty stab wounds, since that's probably your idea of fun."

Jesse glares at him. Blaine stares back, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Fine," Jesse's patience breaks again. "Fine. You have fun with that, okay? Let me know how that goes for you, trying to make a statement by falling off your platform early. That'll really give everyone something to remember. The worthless boy from District Ten who can't even stand upright properly, that'll be an awesome story, an awesome legacy to leave your family with. I'm done trying to help you."

"Good," Blaine says, but it's in such a childish tone that Jesse scoffs.

"Did you even hear what I said?" He reaches out and flicks one of Blaine's ears. "I was going to help you, you ass."

"And I told you I don't want to get dragged around just so you can kill me later."

"Help. You. This is me," he points to himself, "offering to help you," he pokes Blaine in the forehead, hard, "after I know exactly what you want help doing. But fine, since you'd rather get blown to bits, never mind. Pretend I never said anything, and have a nice death."

He starts walking away, but then Blaine (predictably) calls after him.

"Wait, what?"

Jesse turns, smirking.

"Nope, I don't think I want to help you anymore. After all, you really are a rude little shit to me."

"And you're a self-righteous and brainwashed bastard," Blaine counters. Jesse grimaces.

"Really, any time you feel like working yourself back into my good graces, please do."

Blaine's arms tighten across his chest, his brow furrowed. Jesse just stands there, his chin tilted slightly upwards, looking down at Blaine and wondering if this would even work. He'd given Blaine no reason to believe him, other than those two magic words, but they're still allies. Allies are supposed to listen to each other, even if they hate each other.

But it's not really Blaine himself that Jesse hates. It's more the fact that Blaine was able to call him a puppet and make it stick, because if that really is true, shouldn't he have figured that out himself before now?

"How exactly do you want to help me?" Blaine finally asks.

Jesse grins at him, and it's a completely wicked smile that feels positively glorious.

"I want to make you the victor of the Hunger Games."


	7. Chapter 7

As predicted, Blaine hadn't believed him at first. The boy had laughed in his face, told him to go back and sleep off whatever he'd ingested that was making him crazy, and to let him die in as much peace as possible. Then Jesse had seized his arm, dragged him through his own apartment towards his bedroom (while getting some very suspicious looks from the mentors there) and sat him down on his own bed, forcing him to listen.

Now Blaine seems to buy his story.

Well, half of it, at least.

"You do realize that making me win means you'll die, right?" Blaine asks him, his arms still crossed in front of his chest, the same position they'd been in since this conversation had started.

"Maybe not," Jesse tells him, still grinning his wicked smile. He's thought about this, knows that the pair of them will be injected with trackers that do more than just keep track of where they are. They'll monitor their vitals, see when their hearts stop beating so they can sound the cannon at the right moment. "We'll have to see what sort of arena we're given, but I think I can fool a piece of technology."

"But then how are you going to get out? It's called an arena for a reason."

Blaine still looks skeptical, but at least he's trying to work out just what Jesse's trying to do.

"They'll airlift what they think is my body out of there, and then when I wake up…" Well, he hadn't gotten to that point yet. "I'll talk my way out of getting murdered. Offer to have a complete surgical makeover to look like someone else, and then offer my services to help design ways to ensure that no tribute ever pulls what I did again."

Blaine makes a face.

"And then find a way to bring down the system from the inside," Jesse continues.

Blaine's still frowning.

"Can you stop looking like that? You're supposed to say 'Thank you, Jesse, for deciding to keep me alive. I accept your offer and appreciate your sacrifice'."

"How do you plan on keeping me alive?" Blaine asks then. "And don't you think it'll look a little suspicious at the end, having you kill yourself, even if it's not real?"

"I'm a great actor," Jesse says. "I'm sure I can pull off having a mental breakdown just fine."

Blaine just stares at him. Jesse stares back, unable to tell what he's thinking. Blaine could say no; after all, he still has no reason to trust Jesse or to believe anything he says. Jesse's banking on Blaine's sense of self-preservation to kick in and for that trust to be built up between them as the Games go on.

"From where I see it, you have two choices," Jesse tells him. "You can either listen to me and live, or you can try to do this all on your own and end up dead within the first five minutes."

Blaine looks down at his own lap, but his arms uncross. One of his hands is twitching, and he grabs hold of the blanket on his bed to stop it from moving. Jesse can tell he's forcing himself not to say something, that he's digesting the information and weighing his options. He stays silent, letting Blaine consider this deal. When he finally speaks up, it's the last thing Jesse's expecting to hear.

"It's too good to be real," Blaine tells him, cheeks flushed. "You're a Career from District One, arguably the strongest person in this whole group, and you're throwing your entire life away to save mine. Last week you were telling me about how you wouldn't hesitate to kill me slowly if you had the time to waste, and now I'm supposed to believe that you changed your mind?"

"Believe whatever you want," Jesse shrugs, knowing he won't be able to convince Blaine by explaining it to him again. "I'm telling the truth, and if you play the game right, we'll end up giving the Capitol the biggest fuck you in the history of the Hunger Games."

"A victor who didn't kill a single person," Blaine sounds thoughtful, biting down on his lower lip before admitting, "I really like the sound of that." His eyes flick down to his lap again, his teeth biting on his lip again. "I'd ask you to promise me you're telling the truth," he tells his lap, "to swear that this isn't just some trick, but you don't believe in anything. You don't have anything to swear on."

"I'd apologize for the inconvenience, but I really don't give a shit," Jesse says, and then Blaine's laughing. Jesse's never made someone laugh before, not like this. There's no hint of cruelty in that laugh. He didn't make Blaine laugh at the expense of someone else. It's nice, he realizes, and then he's smiling and Blaine looks up at him and his entire expression softens as he looks at Jesse's face. His laughter dies away naturally, and then they're just sitting in silence, looking at each other. It's different from the staring that had gone on before, and even as Jesse's smile softens and his mouth is once again in a straight line, it still feels comfortable.

Blaine extends a hand.

"I think it's safe to say that I'm your first friend, Jesse," he's smiling again, "so if this is all true and you really do care, swear on our friendship that it's not just a trick."

He's breaking one of his own rules, but somehow it feels natural to slide his hand into Blaine's, give it a squeeze, and say, "I swear it's not a trick." It's corny and cheesy and something Jesse would have laughed at had he seen kids in his district doing it, but he can't bring himself to care right now. "Not a word about this to anyone," he reminds Blaine, still holding his hand tightly.

"Not a word," Blaine nods.

"We'll still pretend to have that alliance with the others," Jesse adds. "Then once we've gotten rid of Ramona and Lis, it'll be you and me and Dawn and Geoff. And at some point, we'll get rid of them, too."

"This is weird," Blaine admits. "They're supposed to be our allies."

"But not our friends," Jesse lets go of Blaine's hand. "Nobody else in that arena is your friend, Blaine. We can't save anyone else. Don't forget that."

Blaine nods, but Jesse knows the nod is a lie. Even if it's unconscious, Blaine's not going to remember. He'll want to know why they can't pull the same trick for everyone, even though Jesse hasn't even figured out how he's going to fake his own death.

They don't have long to wait before it's time to put everything to the test.

After a wait that seems too long, Jesse's finally being fitted into his uniform, looking over at the capsule he will enter the arena through. He and Blaine have talked over their plan three times, Jesse making him repeat it back to him in order to ensure that he knows exactly what he's supposed to do. They have no idea what the arena will look like, what it will have in store for them, but Jesse's excited to find out. A part of him is still thrilled to be here, looking forward to finally proving that he's worth something.

He stands in his capsule, moving around slowly, testing how much give his uniform has. His shoes are comfortable and have enough extra space inside to give his feet room to breathe, but not so much that he's sliding around in them. They're uniform running shoes; everyone will be wearing the same ones. They're comfortable and lightweight, perfect for an arena that will require lots of physical activity. His clothes are lightweight as well, long-sleeved and made of a soft and water-resistant material. It doesn't make any noise when Jesse purposefully brushes his arms against his sides. So, stealth. They'll need that, too.

The floor begins to rise, and Jesse closes his eyes. It's dark in this tunnel, and when he gets to the top he might very well be greeted with blinding sunshine. Sure enough, light breaks upon him suddenly, and he turns his face towards it, careful not to trip as he does so. Then he opens his eyes and looks down at the arena.

The timer in the sky says he has thirty seconds. There's a giant oak tree positioned right in front of him, tools and bags and weapons scattered through the field between him and the tree, bags hanging from its branches. So this is the cornucopia. Jesse glances behind him, noticing that about two feet beyond the ring of platforms there is an abrupt change in the arena. The ground surrounding the platforms is green grass, but behind him the ground is covered with colored leaves, the trees there sparsely sprinkled with brown, orange, and yellow leaves of their own.

Autumn.

As Jesse looks around at the twenty-three other tributes, he realizes what this arena is. It is the four seasons, with the cornucopia in the middle, surrounded by a large ring of green grass, an oak tree at its center.

Jewel is beside him to his right, Geoff next to her. Jesse looks over Jewel to Geoff, who nods almost imperceptibly at him. Jesse looks to his left, recognizing the female tribute from District Twelve. They're in order by District. Behind her is a different abrupt change in weather; hers shows trees heavily laden with bright green leaves and fruit. It's obvious that the divide between summer and autumn is between the pair of them.

Though Jesse can't see him, he knows that Blaine is positioned at the border between summer and spring on the summer side. Jesse had instructed him to run straight back into whatever was behind him, so that is where he will go with Dawn and Ramona and Lis to find him after the bloodbath.

He looks up at the timer. Five seconds. Jewel has already positioned herself so she can run straight at him.

When the timer hits zero, Jesse's entire body surges into motion. He runs to his left, crossing paths with the boy from District Twelve in a matter of seconds and elbowing him in the collarbone, hard. The boy staggers backward and Jesse bends to scoop up the backpack that had been on the ground close by. He's about to swing it onto his back when something large and heavy hits him from behind, jumping on him and clinging to his neck, legs wrapping around his middle.

He has no idea who it is, but someone has jumped on top of him. The person isn't trying to hurt him, though, but is just hanging there on his back, probably in an attempt to slow him down. There's a knife on the ground a few feet in front of him, so he keeps running, grabbing it just as there is a pull from behind him. The person's arms – which are locked together – end up around his neck, and he falls backwards as they tighten their grip, choking him.

Without even thinking, Jesse flips his grip on the knife so he's holding it backwards and plunges it hilt-deep into the person's side. Their grip on his neck releases immediately, and he breathes in deeply and raggedly as he pulls the knife out of the person's side, stumbling to his feet and looking behind him. It's easy to figure out what had happened. The girl from District Twelve had jumped on him, and Jewel, who had been following the pair of them, had tried to yank her off so she could be the one to kill him. Jewel has no weapon and no way of defending herself, but she lunges at him anyway, scrabbling at his face with her fingers.

It's a stupid move on her part. All Jesse has to do is hold the knife out in front of him, and she impales herself on it. Jewel gasps, but Jesse doesn't give her a chance to retreat, slashing the knife and cutting her stomach open. She falls to the ground, and he picks up the backpack he had dropped, starting towards the oak tree again. Ordinarily he wouldn't have left the two girls bleeding and still alive on the ground, but he doesn't have time to ensure that they're dead.

He can hear someone yelling behind him, and he chances a glance over his shoulder. It's the boy from District Twelve, who is barreling at him. Jesse stops where he is and hurls the knife at the boy, which catches him in the leg.

Then he keeps running, picking up another knife when he finds one.

The design of this arena is clever. Ordinarily, the cornucopia would be open on one side, which would, admittedly, give those closest an advantage. This tree has no open side, its gifts hanging evenly throughout its branches. He would have to fight his way around the tree if he wants to gain control of it.

It's over in a matter of minutes. Jesse doesn't even notice who everyone else is, just knowing that he ends up in tussles with four more tributes, all of whom he wounds and maybe fatally before making his way closer to the tree. He can see Lis out of the corner of his eye, picking things up and hurling them closer to the tree, can see other tributes dashing off into one of the four seasons after they've managed to grab something. He's fighting with the boy from District Seven, whose throat he eventually slits, when silence falls.

Jesse looks around, spotting Ramona by his side, her hands red and clutching a knife similar to his. Lis and Dawn are on the other side of the tree, Lis holding a spear to the girl from District Ten's throat. The girl has both of her hands up, her back against the tree, looking from Dawn to Lis, terror in her face. Instead of going to greet them, Jesse looks around at those lying in pools of their own blood around the tree.

"I got those two," Ramona points to the two lying closest to the tree. "They were coming at you from behind."

"Thanks," Jesse says, but it's more out of obligation than gratitude. He follows his own path back towards his platform, finding the six he'd had fights with along the way. Three of them have died already, and there is no hint of compassion when he puts two more of them out of their misery. Jewel is still breathing, clutching at the gash in her middle. Her expression is one of pure loathing when he comes over to her.

"Fuck you," she chokes out, coughing up blood. Jesse knows he should try to help her, since they're from the same district, knows he should appear merciful. It would make him look like the hero, having mercy on the girl from his own district who had made the mistake of attacking him.

"You're dying," he tells her, faking regret. "You shouldn't have come at me like that. I'm not going to leave you here to struggle to hold onto life." It's a disgusting speech, but that's what it takes to gain the public's favor. He reaches out, noticing for the first time that his own hands are stained with blood, and covers her eyes. She struggles weakly, but then he cuts her throat and her movements stop.

The boy from District Twelve is nowhere to be seen. Jesse guesses that once he dug the knife out of his leg he had run off in the hopes of saving himself and possibly patching himself up later.

Then the cannon sounds. Six of those bangs are thanks to Jesse. He knows at least two more are for Ramona, but there are other bodies strewn about, and he guesses that a couple more were at her hand as well. The cannon sounds thirteen times; there are eleven of them left. Jesse looks up at the sky, unable to believe that so many tributes had died so quickly. Had they all really been so stupid as to think they'd make it through a bloodbath?

He, Ramona, Lis, and Dawn make up four of those left. Blaine's face hadn't been projected across the sky, so he made five. Geoff was six. Jesse hadn't seen the boy from District Four, and he knew the boy from District Twelve was still out there. Eight. That leaves the boy from District Five and the girl from District Eleven, making ten of them. It's not surprising that those left had been the ones awarded the highest numbers, though Jesse is surprised that more tributes hadn't tried to run instead of battling through. Surely more of the lower numbers would have survived if they'd run.

But then who was the eleventh?

It hit him with a shock of realization that shouldn't have been painful. The girl from District Ten. Blaine's district. The one who was currently being held at spear-point by Lis.

"I'm surprised nobody else tried to run," Ramona is saying conversationally when he walks back towards the others. She's sitting on the ground, cleaning her knife of blood. "These games are going to be very short if this is any indication of how it's going to go."

"At least someone worthy will win," Dawn says with a shrug. "Nobody will hide it out and pop out at the last second to steal the victory."

Jesse could have laughed, knowing what he and Blaine have planned, but he doesn't. Instead, he agrees with the others, mentioning how he had just been thinking the exact same thing.

"So, I'll climb up and see what we've got from the tree?" he offers, waiting to see if anyone has any objections. Dawn smiles at him and says, "Toss them down to me and then we'll get to someplace more sheltered to open them."

"Sheltered?" Lis laughs. "We're the Career pack. A really small Career pack, but we're still the strongest group. Nobody's going to challenge us." She pokes the girl from District Ten with her spear, making the girl whimper.

"And that's how Career packs fail," Dawn retorts with a shrug. "Why are you holding that poor girl like that, anyway?"

Jesse starts to climb then, knowing he doesn't want to hear what Lis has to say, especially not since Dawn called her a "poor girl." He tunes them out, climbing to the highest branch possible first, taking that bag and slinging it over his shoulder, then makes his way back down, taking every bag that's there. Then he calls down to the girls, noticing with exasperation that it is Ramona, not Dawn, who answers him. Dawn and Lis are too busy arguing to notice.

Great.

After dropping all the bags down to them, Jesse climbs down from the tree himself. They have six bags between them, in addition to scattered weapons, a rolled-up sleeping bag, and a canteen that was actually filled with water. Jesse slings a backpack on, then hands another to Ramona, who does the same. Then the pair of them turn to Lis and Dawn.

"Can you two shut up?" Ramona requests, though her tone is biting. Neither of the girls notice, even though they're not actually yelling, just speaking in heated tones at one another. The girl from District Ten keeps trying to sneak away, but any time she moves Lis hits her with the spear.

"Shut the fuck up!" Jesse shouted, silencing the pair of them. "Yeah, we make a great Career pack. Lis, do whatever the hell you're planning on doing with the girl, and let's go."

"She's our new insurance," Lis decides. "Dawn's new insurance. What do you say?" The girl, and both of the others, looks confused. Jesse frowns himself. "I never liked that Blaine guy," Lis continues. "And I don't like you, either," she tells Jesse. "Why don't we make it the four girls instead?"

Jesse feels Ramona's hands on either of his arms, trying to pin them from behind. He'd known from the beginning that they were planning something, he just hadn't expected them to put that plan into action so soon. He moves quickly, grabbing the knife he'd tucked into his belt, but Ramona had already had hers drawn. He feels the sharp edge prick his side as he turns. It's not a fatal wound by any means, just a scratch, but it is deep enough to draw blood.

He acts without thinking, grabbing another one of the backpacks and slinging it on across his front, dodging Ramona's blows as he does so. The backpacks are stuffed full and cumbersome, but they give him protection against her, and it's easy enough to adjust to this added weight. He doesn't pay Dawn or Lis any mind, which is probably a mistake, focusing instead on Ramona, admiring just how quick she is while at the same time fighting for his life.

She deserves that ten she'd been given, that's for sure. Jesse's sweating and feels sluggish in comparison, even though he knows he's still fighting at his prime. He's weakened from the climb, only just, but he can tell that Ramona is taking advantage of this. When he finally does manage to get a blow in, splitting her cheek open, she jumps out of his reach, makes a grab for Lis (who had started fighting Dawn), and makes a break for the spring. Lis follows.

"Well that didn't go to plan," Jesse says, aiming a kick at one of the remaining backpacks.

"Nothing goes to plan in here," Dawn says tersely. She offers the girl from District Ten a hand, helping her up. "Come on. Let's go find Geoff."

"Geoff's supposed to find us," Jesse reminds her. "We told him that–"

"We told him that we'd follow Blaine and that he should come track us and join up with us once we killed the other two," Ramona says, rolling her eyes. "Well, that didn't work. So let's go find him."

"No," Jesse shakes his head. "We can't go wandering around looking for him when it'll be much easier for him to find us. These seasons will work to our advantage. He knows Blaine was positioned in the summer. He knows that's where we'll be going. It makes no sense to go running around somewhere else."

"Fine," Dawn sounds disgruntled. She turns to the other girl. "What's your name?"

"Sheila," the girl answers.

"Sheila," Dawn repeats. "I'm Dawn, and this is Jesse. Do you want to come with us?" Sheila nods.

"If you fall behind, we won't slow down or come back for you," Jesse tells her. "We won't take a shot for you, and you will be expected to hold your own. Do you understand?" Sheila nods again. Jesse passes her and Dawn each one of the remaining backpacks, then lets the pair of them choose from the weapons still scattered about. He's always favored knives, but there's a bow that could come in handy later on, so he takes that as well, slinging the arrows behind his back. It feels so primitive, but this is exactly what he's been training to do.

The three of them walk towards the summer. Jesse notices both girls hesitating before crossing from this patch of grass into the season, so he goes first. There's no visible barrier between here and there, and the grass is the same shade of green, but as soon as he crosses into the new season, the temperature rises significantly. The light seems hotter, and the air feels sticky. It's difficult to breathe at first, but after a few deep breaths, Jesse is accustomed to it.

"This is disgusting," Dawn says.

"It's clever," Jesse says with a shrug. He has no idea how they manage to accomplish half of what they do here, how they can change an entire climate and have no barrier between them, but he's experiencing it for himself so it must be real. It even sounds like summer, with birds singing to one another and he can hear water rushing somewhere, though he can't hear the source. Time will tell if those are real birds or just some sort of soundtrack.

Jesse knows that Blaine was positioned right next to the spring, so he instructs Dawn and Sheila to follow him in that direction. He wonders if they'll be able to cross back and forth between the seasons, but when they reach the border between summer and spring (he can tell because there are flowers on the trees and the leaves are just starting to grow on the other side), the three all hear some sort of humming. Jesse breaks off a twig from a nearby tree, and pokes at the invisible barrier. He's met with a strong force against him, knocking his entire arm backwards despite the fact that he'd barely touched the barrier at all.

"Okay," he chuckles, even though it's not funny at all. "Stay away from the border."

"No kidding," Dawn shakes her head. "So where are we supposed to be looking for Blaine, anyway? Did you tell him anything specific?"

"Well, I didn't know what the arena would look like, did I?" Jesse shoots back, a bit more sarcastically than he'd intended. Dawn glares at him for a few moments, but then he continues. "But I told him to look for water, if there was any. He probably followed the noise of whatever that is." He stops speaking so the other two can listen to the sounds of the season, hearing the rushing water. "He probably went to find it, so let's go find it, too."

It takes them hours, following the noise of that water, whatever artificial light that was pretending to be sunlight beating down on them whenever there was a gap in the trees. All three of them started sweating along the way, but Jesse made them each only take a tiny sip of the water in their canteen. For all they knew, the rushing water they found might not be water at all, and then where would they be if they drank it all now? Besides, Blaine had been in here for much longer. Even without the added strain of the fight they'd been through, he would surely need that sip of water more.

Jesse's starting to think that the sound of water was just coming from nowhere, or was meant to draw them into some sort of trap, when they finally find it. It's a beautiful stream, the water flowing quickly with absolutely breathtaking stones lining the bottom. The water is clear and a small waterfall is off to the right, making a picturesque scene that Jesse can't believe he's looking at.

And there's Blaine, sitting right beside that waterfall, tucked neatly into a crevice in the side of the hill where he can see all around him and nobody can approach him from behind. Jesse points him out to the other two, and they begin walking in his direction.

But something's wrong. Jesse didn't call out to Blaine, because who knows who else might be lurking around here, but Blaine's eyes are focused right on them and yet the boy had given no indication that he'd seen them.

"Jesse, something's wrong," Dawn echoes his thoughts, but Sheila doesn't seem to realize that she ought to be cautious. She and Blaine are from the same district and are probably friends, so before Jesse or Dawn can stop her, she breaks into a run, waving madly, a smile so big it threatened to eat her entire face.

Dawn's hand is clenched around the hilt of her knife and Jesse tucks an arrow into his bow. No sooner had Sheila reached the water's edge then Blaine's entire body crumpled, falling into the water and lying facedown in the stream. Behind him, coming from the crevice that was clearly a lot bigger than Jesse had assumed, was the boy from District Twelve, clutching the knife that Jesse had thrown and buried in his leg, running straight for Sheila.


	8. Chapter 8

It's over as quickly as it had started. Jesse had already tucked an arrow into his bow, and no sooner had the tribute from District Twelve revealed himself, he sent it flying towards him. The arrow catches him in the shoulder, and he falls into the water, floating face-up beside Blaine's body.

Because Blaine's floating face-down and hasn't moved since they got here, Jesse's assuming the worst. He can feel his heart rate picking up as Sheila, who has tears all over her face, splashes towards Blaine, turning him over. Even from this distance, Jesse can tell he's not breathing.

"Should we leave him?" Dawn asks, sounding unsure.

"Which him?" Jesse feigns indifference as the pair of them follow Sheila into the water.

"Both," Dawn says calmly.

"No," Jesse shakes his head. "We haven't heard the cannon for either of them." He raises his voice. "Sheila, get Blaine out of the water and onto solid ground, and please tell me you know CPR." Sheila is shaking and still crying but she nods, turning Blaine over and slowly dragging him towards the bank of the stream. Dawn goes to help her, and Jesse bends over the boy from District Twelve. The boy is shivering, but he isn't trying to take the arrow out of his shoulder.

"Gonna kill me?" he asks, looking up at Jesse.

"Yes," Jesse tells him. "But first you're going to tell me what you did to Blaine."

"And why should I do that?" the boy smirks. Jesse takes ahold of the arrow lodged in his shoulder and pushes on it, making the boy cry out in pain.

"Because I'll have a bit of fun with you if you don't," Jesse says plainly. The boy stares up at him, looking frightened, his face damp not just with the water from the stream but also a mix of tears and sweat. His shivering becomes more extreme when Jesse pulls out his knife.

"Tell me," he orders. The boy shakes his head. Jesse rips open the boy's shirt, not caring that it snags where the arrow has sliced a hole through the fabric, making the boy cry out in pain again. He pricks the boy's chest, lightly enough to draw blood but not enough to make a fatal wound. "Tell me," he repeats. The boy still says nothing.

He stays there, hunched over the boy and slicing open his body, for too long. It feels too long even for him, though he has no idea how long he's there for. Jesse knows where fatal blows are, avoiding the boy's internal organs and piercing him in spots where it will be painful, but not enough to kill him. The boy's breathing has become ragged and shallow by the time Jesse's patience finally wears thin.

"Tell me what you did, and I'll put you out of your misery." He doesn't understand why the boy won't just tell him. Is it that important of a secret? Does he know something about this season, this stream, that will hinder their chances of winning if they don't learn the truth? The boy has to know that he himself is a lost cause, that he'll be dead within minutes, but he clearly doesn't want any of them to win.

"Jesse."

He turns, seeing Dawn sitting on the edge of the stream, looking forlorn, Sheila with her head resting on Blaine's chest, crying softly into his shirt. He's still not breathing.

"We didn't hear the fucking cannon," Jesse insists. "Stop crying and try harder!"

"Jesse, he's gone," Dawn tells him. "There's no heartbeat, he's not breathing, and it's been more than ten minutes. You–"

The cannon sounds. Jesse automatically looks to the sky, but it's the boy he'd just been questioning whose face is up there, not Blaine's. He looks back down at the boy, who has died with his eyes open, blood flowing into the stream and tainting the water around him red. Jesse has the boy's blood all over his hands and clothes, despite the fact that he's in a stream.

He stands and kicks the boy's corpse out of frustration.

"What did he know?" he wonders aloud. "He knew something. Something important. What the hell was it?"

"The stream's probably poisonous," Dawn guesses. "So get out of there and leave him. We should go somewhere else. Somewhere we won't be tempted by a large body of delicious-looking water." She scoots back, laying a hand on Sheila's back. "Come on, Sheila. Time to go."

"No," Sheila clings tighter to Blaine. "I don't want to leave him."

"Then we'll leave you," Dawn tells her. "Come on, Jesse. We can leave her with a backpack and hope we don't see her face up there the next time the cannon sounds." She stands up. Jesse stands as well, looking down at Sheila and Blaine. They still hadn't heard the cannon sound for Blaine. He might have no pulse, but for some reason the arena thinks he's still alive. What is he going to trust, then: Blaine's body or the cannon?

"Everyone else probably went to the spring," Jesse guesses, speaking aloud more to stall than anything else. "The winter is probably completely barren and cold, and the autumn leaves make it impossible to sneak up on anyone. This place is disgustingly hot. We should go to the winter or the autumn and try to figure out what to do there."

"Okay," Dawn agrees. She looks down at Sheila. "When you're done being an idiot, come find us in there. If you want."

Against his better judgment, Jesse drops one of the two backpacks he's still carrying.

"For Blaine, if he's even alive," he explains. Dawn raises an eyebrow at him.

"We don't even know what's in those," she reminds him.

They open all four backpacks then, laying out the supplies they have. Each backpack held a sleeping bag, so they each kept one, then divided up the food and water to be found also inside evenly among them. If anything gave an indication that the stream was poisonous, it was the fact that every canteen and bottle was filled to the brim with water. Dawn only left a little extra food for Blaine, unwilling to part with supplies they'd need for someone who might be dead. Jesse didn't protest.

"What about Geoff?" Dawn asks once they reach the edge of the summer, having left Blaine and Sheila behind. Jesse had forgot about him.

"We'll leave a mark," he decides. He picks the biggest tree at the border, then carves a J and a D into the trunk with an arrow pointing towards the autumn to their left. "It's obvious, I know, but that just means we have to learn the environment and use it to our advantage." Dawn doesn't seem too worried about the fact that they've just broadcast exactly where they are for anyone who might want to know. Jesse figures that as soon as Geoff finds them, they'll double back and go to a different season, just to throw everyone off. Or maybe they'll stay, because surely everyone else would expect it to be a trick.

Whatever light source is shining down on them has dimmed considerably. It's clear that "night" is falling. Jesse and Dawn cross into the new season, where the air is slightly chilly and a breeze is coming from nowhere. It's extremely pleasant after the sweltering heat to be found in the summer.

"We should sleep in shifts," Dawn says, a note of finality in her voice. Jesse, who hadn't even been thinking about sleep, suddenly remembers that they will have to rest at some point.

"I'll take the first watch," Jesse offers, because he isn't tired at all. He might still be running on adrenaline, which will wear out in a few more hours once he's settled into their new surroundings, but for now he's perfectly fine.

The pair of them walk in silence, going deeper and deeper into this new season. There's a stream here as well, but it's smaller and choked with leaves that have either been placed there strategically, or have fallen from the trees. After their experience with the stream in the summer, however, the pair of them wordlessly continue on. Eventually they come across a large tree, larger than any Jesse has ever seen in his life. From the look on Dawn's face, she's thinking the same.

"It's as good a spot as any," Jesse thinks aloud. Dawn obviously agrees, because she sits at the base of the tree, leaning back against the trunk. Jesse's about to point out how exposed that makes her when she begins covering herself with leaves. While it's not the most foolproof idea, it will suffice, since one of them will be awake at all times. Jesse sits beside her, scattering leaves on top of his own body, ready to take the first shift.

"Do you have a watch?" Dawn asks him.

"No," Jesse shakes his head. "Do you?"

"Time probably doesn't matter in here," she says with a shrug, which answers his question. "Just… wake me up when you get tired, I guess." Jesse nods. It will hardly be a perfect system, but it's all they have for the time being.

It doesn't take long for Dawn to fall asleep. Her breathing is calming, making Jesse's adrenaline high slowly dissipate. The reality of what's going on suddenly hits him. He's killed seven people in less than 24 hours. Right now he's the frontrunner of the Games. That thought puts a smile on his face, though it isn't the smirk that would have appeared there in years past. This is a genuine smile, even if it is softer than his usual ones.

Jesse's not entirely sure why he's happy about this, but he supposes it's because he has, admittedly, been training for this his entire life. He's only recently decided that it isn't worth his time, so instinct has kicked in to tell him that he's done a good job. At the same time, he rationalizes it with the logic that he'll be the last one standing. If he's the frontrunner after only a day, he'll definitely be the one to pull through.

It's then that he realizes that he's stopped considering Blaine in all this. He's reverted back to thinking only of himself and his desire to live. With Blaine out of the game, cannon or no cannon, it's back to self-preservation. His eyes flick to Dawn's sleeping form. Even in this dim light, it'd be easy to put an end to her. He could lie when Geoff finds them, tell the boy that she'd been killed by another. Nobody would know.

At least, nobody who mattered.

His fingers tap the knife still hanging at his waist. It would be easy. One quick motion, and the cannon would sound and he'd still be the winner.

It's that thought that stops him. _Still_ the winner. Jesse knows these games, knows them inside and out. There is no winner until the last second. He is the frontrunner now, and plenty of times the Games have ended with that same frontrunner as the victor. He's certainly counting on it. But at the same time, if he keeps this up, others might start to think the Games boring. Who was to say those in charge of the arena wouldn't want to give him the chop, just to keep things interesting?

A heavy sigh escapes his mouth. He hadn't even considered that aspect of the Games. It was the only part that was completely unpredictable, because he couldn't learn the public's feelings while he was in here. He had no idea who the popular choice was, who they were cheering for, who they wanted to watch die. For all he knew, after his treatment of the seven he's killed, he is the latter. He can't just be a mindless killer; nobody would want him to win if that was the case. There has to be a part of him that appeals to the public.

Blaine would have appealed to the public. Had they joined up as they were supposed to, Jesse would have made a point of looking at him for too long, of waking him up to make whispered promises that everything would work out in the end. The audience would know they were planning something, would want to find out what it was, and therefore the arena wouldn't revolt against either of them.

Jesse suddenly _hates_ these Games, hates them so much that he finds himself wishing he'd promised to make them the shortest Games in history, instead of making Blaine the only victor who'd never killed anyone. He just wants it to all be over so he can go home.

That's when he hears footsteps, and he nudges Dawn. She's instantly awake, and hears why he'd woken her within an instant. As silently as possible, the pair of them stand, the leaves they'd covered themselves with falling to the ground, and they begin climbing up the tree. It's harder work than Jesse cares to admit, but they're both soon perching on two large branches, watching the ground for any signs of movement.

The footsteps are loud, but they don't seem to be getting any closer. It's obviously someone who either has no idea where they're going or no idea how loud they're being. Maybe it's someone who's not very good at being quiet. Or maybe whoever it is has assumed that nobody's around. Jesse hopes it's the latter, because that way he and Dawn could take them by surprise.

He starts to hear voices, finally, and thinks that maybe the people (for there are two distinct voices) have finally started moving towards them. He exchanges a look with Dawn, who shrugs her shoulders. Neither of them can tell to whom those voices belong.

Then Jesse hears the higher-pitched of the two saying Blaine's name. He looks over at Dawn again, who has seemingly heard it as well, because she's smiling. Jesse doesn't smile back; it could still be Ramona and Lis, not Sheila and Blaine. Or maybe it _is_ Sheila and Blaine, and the pair of them are being marched through the autumn in the hopes of luring Jesse and Dawn out.

Thankfully, Dawn has enough common sense to not jump down and reveal herself. She and Jesse both wait up in their tree until the speakers are in sight, and when Sheila and Blaine finally walk through the bushes, Jesse's lips turn up in a smile. He has no idea how Blaine was physically dead and yet is back to walking around, but he can't wait to find out.

Dawn is the first to climb down, whistling at the two until they look up. Both grin up and wave at the other pair, but they don't start asking questions until all four are back on solid ground. Then they sit in a circle, Jesse speaking first when all he says is, "Explain."

"It was the water!" Sheila says excitedly, which makes both Dawn and Jesse shush her. They still have to be on their guard, even though they haven't seen or heard anyone else around. "Sorry," Sheila speaks more softly. "The water. It was the water. Blaine was still just lying there, and I'd started dabbing his forehead because he started feeling too hot. I guess the water trickled from his forehead into his mouth, because–"

"I woke up," Blaine interrupts. He's beaming and holding Sheila's hand. "The first time you drink the water, it paralyzes you. I think." He starts to tell them about how he'd run off into the summer, just as Jesse had told him, not stopping until he heard the water. He hadn't been thirsty, not at first, so he just sat there because he'd also been told to look for water. "I heard footsteps, and I thought it was all of you. But it was that other boy instead. I thought he was going to kill me, but he just smiled and told me that I looked thirsty."

"He wanted you to drink the water first," Jesse explains. Blaine frowns.

"I worked that out for myself, thanks." Now Jesse frowns.

Blaine continues, explaining how he'd taken a drink when bidden, but then suddenly his entire body went limp and he was lying on the ground. He could still see and hear, but he couldn't move. The boy from District 12 had dragged him up into that crevice, where they waited. Blaine had seen everything until he'd been pushed into the water, which was when he blacked out.

"So the second drink knocks you out," Blaine explains.

Dawn is the one to interrupt this time.

"It doesn't just knock you out. You were _dead_," she tells him. "You weren't breathing, you didn't have a heartbeat… except for the cannon sounding, we had every reason to believe you'd died."

"Sheila was telling me that," Blaine says. "I don't know how that worked, but… I'm here, now." He offers a small shrug. "Whatever it is, it's meant to make you look dead. And, I guess, to keep people from drinking the water."

"The only source of water does things to your body you can't explain," Jesse thinks aloud. "It's not poisonous, at least the summer one isn't, but you'd never be able to figure out what it did unless someone was there to help you. That's genius."

"No, it's disgusting," Blaine shoots back. Jesse frowns again, completely taken aback by how Blaine's speaking to him.

"Jesse and I were alternating watches," Dawn then begins to fill the others in on what they've been up to. "He took the first one, but now that you two are here, he can get some sleep."

"I'll take the next one," Blaine offers. "I've been knocked out all day; I should start helping."

"I'm not tired," Jesse argues, but Dawn cuts in with, "Go to sleep, Jesse."

But he doesn't go to sleep. The four of them settle back against the tree's trunk, but Jesse doesn't sleep. Instead, he thinks. His entire plan on Blaine being the victor hinged on his own ability to fool the system, to stop his own heart for long enough to get those monitoring his vitals to think he'd died. Then, when airlifted out, he'd wake up and talk his way out of being murdered on the spot.

Well, Blaine's vitals had told all of them that he had been dead. How had the little censor inside of him known the difference?

He could ponder that all night if he'd cared to, but Jesse now knows that there probably was no way he'd be able to fool anything. He couldn't even 'accidentally' go take a drink of the water, because their entire conversation had probably been filmed. Everyone watching knows what they now know, so even if it came down to him and Blaine, he couldn't just go off to take a sip of water and let those in charge pretend it was poisonous.

That would have been _perfect._ The Games would have ended, and Blaine could have given him those two extra sips of water right before being airlifted out, and everything would have been just fine.

He definitely needs a new plan, if such a plan could be concocted. He could always just… die, but… no. Jesse wants to live.

He also wants to know why Blaine's attitude suddenly shifted, so he straightens up, looking over at the boy. Dawn and Sheila's breathing have both evened out by now, breaths deep and slow. He and Blaine are the only two awake. Jesse shifts closer to him, giving him a nudge so the boy knows he's awake.

"What?" Blaine whispers, voice harsh.

"Whoa," Jesse holds up both hands. "No need to bite my head off."

"Whatever," Blaine turns away.

"Hey," Jesse implores, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, turning him back. "What's the matter with you?"

"What's the _matter_ with me?" Blaine echoes. "You abandoned me. You left me for dead when I was still alive, and I would still by lying there if Sheila hadn't somehow found her way into your fucking posse. I don't know what the hell is going on or why that water's been tampered with, but I do know that I was medically dead for way too long. How do we know the water _isn't_ poisonous, that it won't just kill me later? My heart could stop at any minute, and all you can do is say how smart it all is."

"Well–" Jesse tries to argue, but Blaine cuts him off.

"I'm scared out of my mind right now," he continues. "I don't know why I'm alive, and I'm still not cut out for this, so if you could drop the fucking act for two seconds or at least have the human decency to pretend that you care, that would really fucking help."

Part of Jesse does want to drop the act, as Blaine's putting it. He wants to reassure the other boy that he'll figure out a new plan and that he'll make sure he gets out of this alive, but he can't. His plan has just been blown to pieces, and he isn't the kind of person who makes promises he can't keep.

"You do know we're being filmed right now, don't you?" is what he says instead. Blaine glares at him. "Well, we are. I can hardly disclose the nature of our plan with people watching."

He says it both to shut Blaine up and to peak everyone's curiosity. He's been counting on being subtle, not blurting out that there is a plan, but this would have to do. Then, once Geoff met up with them, everyone would assume that that had been the plan. Later, once Jesse killed Dawn and Geoff, everyone would assume that _that_ had been the plan. Nobody would see the end coming, which was good because he wasn't sure what the end would be, not now.

But it would do some good to give a hint. To those watching, he and Blaine are nothing more than two mismatched tributes, who'd somehow formed an alliance that was secret from the others. There is no reason for the audience to believe either one of them is being genuine right now, especially Jesse. Now that Blaine is back, he could start working on that 'appeal to the audience' part of his personality.

His hand is still on Blaine's shoulder, but he shifts even closer, draping his arm fully around the boy's shoulders.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with all that earlier," Jesse tells him. "I really am."

"Why didn't you wait with me?" Blaine asks, leaning into Jesse's arm.

"I thought you were dead," Jesse answers. "I really did. The cannon told me one thing but your body told me another, and I believed what was in front of me."

It wasn't the most eloquent of statements, and he'd definitely phrased it awkwardly enough, but it was the kind of statement Jesse knows Blaine will read into. He'll see what Jesse's really saying.

_I trust you more than I trust them._

Silence meets his comment, but he feels a tentative arm wrap around his waist.

"Okay," is all Blaine says. There is more silence, but then Jesse feels his lips opening and a yawn escapes him. His adrenaline has finally run out, it seems, and the exhaustion hit him.

"Go to sleep," Blaine instructs, taking his arm from around his waist and giving him a light shove.

"Wake Dawn up for the next watch," Jesse says, scooting back to where he had been before and settling himself as comfortably as possible on the ground. All things considered, it's not too bad, the leaves cushioning him against the twisting roots of the tree.

"Not Sheila?" Blaine asks. Jesse turns his head to look at him, raising an eyebrow and hoping the other boy can see his expression. One side of Blaine's mouth twitches, and he says, "Not Sheila," again, except this time it isn't a question.

"Sleep well," Blaine tells him, and Jesse makes a noise of thanks.

"Wake me if someone's trying to kill you."

It's supposed to be funny, to make Blaine smile, but his comment is met with silence.


	9. Chapter 9

He is awakened by the sound of the cannon.

Jumping up from where he'd been sprawled under the tree, Jesse is immediately on his feet, peering through the branches at the sky, trying to see whose face is up there. He doesn't believe in God, but it sure feels like praying when he starts hoping that he'll see either Ramona or Lis up there.

It's neither.

"Geoff?" Dawn's voice sounds disappointed, rather than upset.

"That's him," Jesse nods, looking back down from the sky. "How he hell did he get himself killed?"

"We should have stuck with him from the beginning," Dawn begins saying. Jesse turns back towards her, seeing Blaine and Sheila also roused from sleep as well. The pair of them are silent, eyes wider than usual.

"We had a plan," Jesse reminds Dawn.

"One that failed," she argues. "We should have stuck together from the get-go. If Geoff and I had just done what we wanted instead of planning on that stupid double-cross..."

"We'd be exactly where we are now," Jesse interrupts. "Or Ramona and Lis would have double-crossed us instead. It doesn't matter. He's dead, and he would have been another opponent if he had made it. So we really should be thanking whoever killed him for doing it for us, because it's much easier to kill an enemy than an ally."

"Maybe we should just be silent for a while," Blaine pipes up. Dawn and Jesse both stare at him. "You know," the boy shifts uncomfortably, "a moment of silence for those who've passed. And he's... passed."

"I agree," Sheila says. She even closes her eyes and bows her head. Jesse looks over at Dawn, but the girl seems to have accepted this suggestion and is biting her bottom lip. Maybe it's to keep herself from saying something, or maybe she and Geoff had been closer than Jesse had originally thought. He looks over at Blaine, then, who had almost died already and who he'd left for dead. He hadn't acted like this for Blaine. He'd reverted right back to thinking about his own survival.

Jesse thinks that this is the sort of thing he's supposed to feel guilty about, but he doesn't.

Not really. Something has worked its way around his stomach and has clamped down on it, but Jesse pushes it back down, telling himself that it's just disappointment.

"So, what's the plan now?" Blaine asks, breaking the silence.

"The plan is we kill those bitches who got him," Dawn says immediately.

"Agreed," Jesse says, nodding. "But we don't know if it _was_ them."

"Oh, it was," Dawn's voice darkens. "I can feel it. They've hated him from the beginning."

"They've hated all of us from the beginning," Jesse reminds her, not liking just how worked up she's getting. Dawn can't lose her cool now; he needs her to be thinking rationally or there's no way all four of them will get out alive. A confrontation with Ramona and Lis isn't something Jesse wants, because they are the only people in this arena who have a chance of beating him. And it wouldn't even be four against two; Blaine and Sheila hardly count when it comes to fighting.

"Shame they didn't project his place of death up there with his face," Dawn is now saying. "Then we wouldn't have to actually look for the bitches."

Jesse laughs, but shuts up when Dawn shoots him an angry look.

"Should we split up?" Sheila asks tentatively. "We could look faster that way, I think."

"No," Jesse says, just as Dawn says, "Yes."

"_No_," Jesse echoes. "Splitting up is just asking for trouble. We're strongest as a group, and there's never any guarantee of things going our way. We might not be able to find each other if we split up."

"We just need to find two people," Dawn argues. "It'll be easy. You take Blaine and I'll take Sheila and we'll each search different seasons. Then we'll meet back here."

"And what happens if we find them?" Jesse asks. "Are you really going to double back without trying to kill them?" He tries to sound as kind as possible as he continues. "Dawn, you're pissed right now, and rightfully so. But you can't risk everything for revenge. We need to stick together so we can face them together."

"I can take them," Dawn argues, and Jesse knows it's a lost cause, already predicting what she'll say next. "I'll leave you three if you don't let me go look for them, and then where would you be?"

Jesse has to fight not to heave a sigh.

"What do you think?" he asks Blaine, who's been silent this whole time.

Blaine answers by shrugging a shoulder.

"Well, that's helpful," Jesse rolls his eyes. "Fine. If you all want to split off into suicide missions, then go right ahead."

"Thank you," Dawn says tersely. "C'mon, Sheila, let's go look in the spring. We haven't been there yet."

"We'll take winter," Jesse decides. "And don't do anything stupid. Tail them; don't kill them."

"I make no promises," Dawn says, as predicted.

"Whatever," Jesse shakes his head. "We'll meet back here when the sky darkens."

He has a fleeting thought that night might come at different times in the different seasons, just like it does in the real world, but decides not to mention that. If it is true, all it means is that he and Blaine will get back here before the others.

The four of them walk together out of the autumn and out to the oak tree. Nobody else is around, but that doesn't mean Ramona and Lis aren't hiding somewhere nearby. Jesse goes out first, circling the tree, and since nobody tries to attack him, he motions for the others to come out as well. Even after Dawn and Sheila disappear into the spring, nobody else comes out. It's clear that all the others have set up camp in one of the seasons and are either waiting it out or are coming up with their own plans.

"Let's go," he then says quietly to Blaine, and the pair of them walk into the winter.

The blast of cold air hits him with such a shock that Jesse can't breathe for a few seconds. This is worse than the heat in the summer, and even when he does catch his breath it comes in gasps and it hurts going down. Blaine is having similar problems.

"Slow," he manages to choke out, putting a hand on Blaine's shoulder and trying to over-exaggerate his own breaths so Blaine will understand what he's saying. The other boy nods, and they choke down icy-cold air for what feels like an eternity. Normally it wouldn't be this bad, because Jesse has walked outside in the real winter plenty of times, but this artificial outdoors has obviously been made to challenge them more than real nature would.

"You okay?" he asks when he finally feels comfortable enough to speak.

"Yeah," Blaine's voice sounds hoarse. "This is weird."

"Tell me about it," Jesse grimaces. "It wouldn't surprise me if nobody was in here."

"Then why did you decide to search here?"

"Because spring is predictable," Jesse says as he starts walking further into this season, Blaine keeping pace at his side. "There are probably hosts of mutated animals in there, maybe some poisonous flowers, that sort of thing. And we already know about the water in the summer, and we just came from the autumn. So, winter. Time to see what this place has got up its sleeve."

"Snow," Blaine tells him.

"I can see that," Jesse smirks. The ground is covered in the small crystals, only a few inches deep, but more is steadily falling from the fake sky. There are trees here, like the other seasons, these ones with their branches covered in snow and bare of leaves. There really was no place habitable here, the cold making it impossible to get comfortable (much like the thick heat of summer) and the constant un-melting snowfall meaning footprints would be lost within minutes.

"We have to walk in a straight line," Jesse thinks aloud. "Our footprints are going to get covered, and this is the last place I want to get lost in." He glances behind them and is shocked to see that their footprints have already vanished. "Wait a minute."

He stops, squatting down to look closer.

"What is it?" Blaine asks.

"It's the snow," Jesse presses his hand into the snow as deep as it will go, his fingers spread wide, and then removes it. The imprint of his hand remains for only a few seconds, and then the snow fills back in. He hears Blaine gasp from above him.

"I think I found the treachery in here," Jesse decides. "Snow that isn't real snow. What the fuck is this stuff, then?" He scoops up a handful of it. It's light and feels powdery, and as he passes it between his hands none of it melts onto his skin. Blaine has bent down and is poking at the snow now, seemingly just as transfixed as Jesse.

"It's impossible to leave footprints," Blaine states the obvious.

"It doesn't melt," Jesse tells him, letting the fake snow fall back to the ground and brushing the remaining particles off his hands. Some of it clings there despite him brushing his hands together. "Blaine, look."

And Blaine does look, standing up and staring at Jesse's hand, at how the little white particles cling to his skin even as he shakes his hand and brushes at it with the other one.

"What's it doing?"

"I have no fucking clue, but it's getting kind of creepy," Jesse tries wiping his hand on his clothes, but that doesn't work either. So the pair of them just stand there watching until finally – finally! – the snow particles fall away. Jesse frowns down at his hand, wondering why they had fallen off at that moment. And it takes _him_ a few moments, but then he remembers.

"I tried punching you and I hit the wall instead," he says. "Remember?"

"No, I've completely forgotten," Blaine says sarcastically.

"Look!" Jesse holds his hand out closer to Blaine. "I tore my skin when I did that. My knuckles were a mess, and they were still kind of messed up when the Games started. But look!" The skin is now completely healed, no traces left of any injury. "The snow _fixed it_."

"But why?" Blaine looks up at him with an expression that matches Jesse's own confusion.

"To help me?" Jesse guesses, though he isn't sure. "That doesn't really make sense, though. I didn't need any help, and this arena's supposed to be trying to mess us up as we go, not fix us up."

"Maybe it does that, too," Blaine suggests. "Maybe it's like the water, where the third sip brings you back. The snow might help you first then hurt you last, instead."

"Either way, I don't like it," Jesse decides. "But we have to keep going, to see if anyone's hiding in here."

"Okay," Blaine agrees.

They walk in silence for the rest of their time here in this season. Jesse knows it's pointless to keep going and hoping they come across a broken branch or a trail of blood or anything that will tell them another person's been here. With this magic snow there's no way they'll be able to find and follow a trail. The only way of finding out if someone else is hiding here would be if that person ambushed the pair of them or managed to kill them while remaining hidden.

Jesse thinks Blaine knows this is pointless, too, but the other boy doesn't say anything to that effect. He doesn't talk at all, just keeps pace with Jesse the whole time they walk through this season.

They finally come across a clump of evergreen trees, branches hanging heavy with snow.

Or, at least, all but one of the trees are hanging heavy with snow. Jesse instantly holds out an arm to stop Blaine from walking any closer, then drags him behind a different tree, peering out from behind it.

"Look," he says quietly, pointing at the evergreens. Blaine does, frowning at first, but then Jesse watches comprehension dawn on him. He turns back to Jesse, mouthing, "Oh."

And there's no way they can hide themselves without making it obvious that they'd gone a particular way. Judging from that evergreen tree, the snow only resets itself when it's on the ground, so if they climb up this tree to wait for whoever is over there to reveal himself or herself, it will be obvious to that person that they are hiding up here. Plus there are no leaves to hide them, just bare branches that would do nothing whatsoever.

"What do we do?" Blaine asks.

"Climb," Jesse instructs, giving Blaine a leg-up since the lowest branch is still too high to get to without a boost. He doesn't follow, instead inching closer to the clump of evergreens. If Blaine has any misgivings or is confused, he doesn't say as much and he doesn't jump down to follow Jesse, for which Jesse is grateful. While there is no way of hiding the fact that Blaine's up in that tree, it would certainly pose an obstacle to whoever is staying here, and Jesse would be able to get to them before they get to Blaine.

There are no sounds coming from within the trees, so when Jesse is finally right next to them, he throws caution to the wind and ducks under the branches. A glance tells him that nobody is here, but he hoists himself up into the tree and climbs, looking above him for signs that someone is up there. It's obvious that someone _was_ here, for there are broken branches and, obviously, the movement had caused the snow to fall.

Jesse climbs as far up as he can go without worrying the branches won't hold his weight, and decides that whoever had been here has gone. Where they went he cannot tell, since there are no tracks to be found in the snow. This poses a new problem, and Jesse starts toying with the idea of waiting here for whoever this is to come back instead of meeting up with Dawn and Sheila at the agreed time.

If it works, and he is able to get rid of this person, that's one less person he has to worry about. But waiting here instead of going back to Dawn and Sheila risks alienating them, and Jesse doesn't really want to get rid of that alliance this early in the game.

Except it isn't his decision alone, is it?

Jesse lowers himself back to the ground, carefully emerging from the trees so he doesn't shake any snow from any others. It won't do to mess this cluster of trees up more and give whoever is staying here a clear indication that their hideout has been found. But rather than asking Blaine to come down, Jesse climbs up to join him in the other tree, not missing how the boy is shivering.

"It's freezing," Blaine tells him. "Can we go now?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Jesse confesses. "Someone's been staying in there, and it might be wise to wait here until they come back and then get rid of them."

"But we're supposed to–" Blaine starts, but Jesse cuts him off with, "I know."

"So you want to stay here anyway." It isn't a question. "I think that's stupid."

"Everything that's gone wrong has been because we followed the plan," Jesse reminds him. "Our double-cross didn't work, Geoff meeting up with us didn't work, and don't you think Dawn's going to figure out soon enough that I'm not just dragging you around because of her insurance policy?"

"Insurance policy?" Both of Blaine's eyebrows rise.

"You know, trailing you along so she's not the weakest link."

"Oh, is that what I am?" Blaine tries to turn away from Jesse, which makes him lose his balance. Jesse grabs him just in time, stopping him from falling out of the tree. Blaine grabs onto Jesse's arm, holding it tightly and not letting go even after he's regained his footing. His grip is starting to hurt.

"So I'm just some weak piece of shit you've got on a leash," Blaine summarizes.

"_No_," Jesse insists. "That's just what she thinks. You know what I'm doing. We've talked about this enough times for you to know what I'm doing. What we're doing."

"You keep alluding to it," Blaine rolls his eyes, "but you haven't actually said what you mean once since we got here. How am I supposed to–"

"Are you an idiot?" Jesse snaps. "You _know_ we can't talk about this stuff openly. _Someone_," he emphasizes the word, hoping Blaine picks up on who exactly he means, "might overhear."

"Or maybe they won't," Blaine argues stubbornly. "Jesse, I need to know that you're still on my side."

"Of course I am."

"Really? Because it sure doesn't seem like it."

"What more do you want me to do, then?" Jesse's patience breaks, and his voice rises. "What else _can_ I do, short of saying, 'Here, Blaine, let me off myself so you're one step closer to victory,' and then slitting my own throat?"

"Stop that," Blaine finally lets go of his arm. "Stop making it sound like I'm expecting you to kill everyone for me. That's not what I want."

"Oh, right, you want us all to hold hands and sing fucking nursery rhymes."

"And why is that so bad?"

Jesse doesn't get a chance to answer, because at that moment a rock collides with Blaine's shoulder. Looking down, Jesse spots the little boy from District Five, who apparently is the one that's been staying in the trees. It's obvious that the boy hoped to have knocked one of them out of the tree but missed his target, because no sooner does Jesse spot him than he dashes away.

"Hey!" the word escapes from Jesse's mouth, but he knows this boy isn't going to stop. He also knows that stealth and speed are this boys strengths, and if he loses him then he has no chance of finding him again. They'd found him (or, rather, he'd found them) thanks to chance. So instead of jumping out of the tree to chase him, Jesse quickly grabs the bow he has slung over a shoulder and notches an arrow. He doesn't have to kill the boy with this shot, but he does need to hit him somewhere.

And he does. When he looses the arrow, it catches the boy in the leg, making him stumble and fall. He tries to rip the arrow and keep going, but Jesse looses another one and gets his back.

"Jesse, stop!" Blaine grabs his arm, just as he's about to release a third arrow. Jesse shrugs him off and lets the arrow fly, getting the boy in the back again. He isn't moving now.

"Jesse!"

"What?"

The cannon interrupts them, and the little boy's face is up in the sky.

"He's a baby!" Blaine shouts, shoving Jesse so hard that he has to grab onto a branch so he doesn't fall out of the tree. "He's just a little kid, Jesse! What the fuck?"

"Are we really going to have this conversation again?" Jesse swings from his spot on the branch, lowering himself back to the ground.

"Yes!" Blaine follows him down from the tree.

"No," Jesse's tone is firm, but he's not shouting. "This is what happens here, Blaine. We have to kill each other. That's how it works. I'm not going to make exceptions just because one of them's a kid."

"Well you should," Blaine shoots back.

"And you should learn that I'm the only thing keeping you alive, so maybe I know better than you about how this is supposed to work."

"And that's what's wrong with you!"

Jesse forces himself to breathe through his nose, focusing on a spot behind Blaine's head rather than looking at him. He counts to three on each inhale, then to five on each exhale.

"I'm sorry," Blaine says after Jesse's counted at least six breaths. "I… I didn't mean–"

"Whatever," Jesse snaps. "Let's go back to Dawn and Sheila."

They're silent again as they walk back, though Jesse keeps hearing Blaine taking sharp inhales, like he wants to break that silence but thinks better of it each time. He does that at least four times, so Jesse saves him the agony when they reach the oak tree.

"Don't worry about it," he finally says. "What happened happened, and getting mad at each other isn't going to help anything."

"But–"

"Don't worry about it," Jesse repeats firmly. "Come on."

"But–"

"Come _on_."

"No, listen to me," Blaine reaches out and grabs Jesse's hand, which does make him stop and listen. Blaine doesn't let go even though he now has Jesse's attention. He holds Jesse's confused gaze, his expression neutral, then he links their fingers together and smiles. Jesse looks down at their hands, then back up at Blaine's face, stopping himself from asking him what the _fuck_ he's doing with difficulty.

"I'm sorry," Blaine says. "I didn't mean to yell at you like that." His eyes never leave Jesse's face, and Jesse's pretty sure he's supposed to be picking up on something Blaine isn't saying, but he still has no clue what the other boy is doing. "You do know better than I do about all this, because you're the one who's actually cut out for this. This isn't me, and it never will be, and even though I know we're supposed to kill each other to get out alive, I still can't watch it without…" He falters, though Jesse isn't sure why.

"I understand," he says anyway, which makes Blaine's smile widen for a fraction of a second. Then he's the one tugging Jesse back towards the autumn, still holding his hand as they continue walking. Jesse thinks he's given Blaine the impression that he understood all of what he's trying to do, but decides not to question it now and ask him about it later, whisper it in his ear while Dawn is talking, maybe, so the cameras filming them won't notice.

When they reach the area in the autumn they'd designated as their meeting place, it doesn't surprise Jesse that Dawn and Sheila aren't back yet. The sky hasn't grown very dark yet, which probably means the spring will be light for another hour at least. Maybe they should have stayed in the winter longer, looking to see if Ramona and Lis are hiding out in a different part of that season, but after killing the boy Jesse had forgotten about the two girls.

If Blaine has any misgivings or problems with being back here, he doesn't say as much. He lets go of Jesse's hand, but when Jesse sits down with his back against a tree, Blaine sits beside him, their arms pressed together, and links their fingers again.

Confused and deciding not to wait for a distraction, Jesse turns his head so that his lips almost brush against Blaine's ear, asking so softly he practically breathes the words, "What the hell are you doing?"

And Blaine actually giggles, as if Jesse's said something funny. Jesse stops himself from frowning, though he still doesn't understand. But Blaine reaches out with his free hand to cup Jesse's chin, tilting his face away from the tree trunk so that when he leans in, his face is hidden between Jesse's and the tree.

"Making it believable," is the answer that gets whispered into his own ear.

Jesse has no clue what that means, and he wishes he could say as much without fearing that a camera is filming this conversation. Or, really, nonversation should be the word, since they're hiding it and apparently Blaine's trying to make it look like… Well, Jesse's not really sure what this is supposed to look like. All he knows is that Blaine's suddenly acting like a schoolboy with an embarrassing crush, and–

Oh. He's going for the romantic angle. He's trying to make it look like they're into each other, to give the viewers an explanation as to why they've teamed up. Jesse doesn't really know why that's necessary, but he thinks back to his earlier musing about how Blaine would know how to appeal to an audience, how Blaine is likeable and different from the other tributes, how in comparison he, Jesse, must look boring and cookie-cutter.

Blaine's given him his humanity, he realizes. He's singlehandedly made their story make sense without giving away what's really going on. And while Jesse really doesn't want theirs to turn into a Romeo and Juliet-type story where the audience will think one of them gave up their life for the other at the end out of a sense of teenage infatuation (because that's all it is when you're this young and horny and stupid), Blaine is smart to recognize that they do need a cover story. They need to be interesting, to be more than just a group of four kids, two with high scores and two with lows, wandering around looking like a bunch of friends with no explanation given for that friendship.

Alliances needed to be logical, and so far none of Jesse's alliances have been logical. So it makes sense that when logic fails, the next explanation would be an emotional attachment.

Jesse thinks he can pull it off. He thinks he can make this convincing enough to last through the whole game, until the grand finale where he… does something… and reveals his true motives.

When they hear footsteps, both boys spring from their spot against the tree, Jesse shaking his hand loose of Blaine's grip. He's instantly ready to attack, in case it's not Dawn and Sheila coming back, but those two come bursting from the trees only seconds later, both out of breath.

"What happened?" Jesse asks immediately.

"They're in the spring," Dawn chokes out. "Lis is hurt. I think Geoff did it before they killed him, but we didn't stick around to find out the details."

"Why?" Jesse peers behind them through the trees. "They aren't–"

"No," Dawn shakes her head. "No, they're not chasing us. But they did spot us. Lis is in no condition to fight, and Ramona's not good enough to track us this far without me knowing. But we thought it was best not to slow down, anyway."

Jesse doesn't buy this story, doesn't buy that Ramona just let them get away, choosing to stay with her injured friend instead of getting rid of two competitors. Ramona hadn't struck him as the type who'd hang around an injured friend, anyway, but more the type who would have slit Lis's neck at the first sign of weakness. There's something wrong.

"I don't believe you," he starts, but no sooner had he started speaking than Dawn and Sheila exchange a glance and start running again, past Blaine and Jesse, going further into the autumn. And that's when Ramona jumps out at them.


End file.
